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[See  p.  114 
SHE      CLOSED      HER      EYES,     AND      HIS      HOLD      TIGHTENED 


THE 

COMBINED  MAZE 


BY 

MAY  SINCLAIR 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  DIVINE  FIRE- 


NEW  YORK 

THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


COPYRIOHT      16)3.    BY   HARPER   ft    BROTHERS 


THE     COMBINED     MAZE 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 


CHAPTER  I 

YOU  may  say  that  there  was  something  wrong 
somewhere,  some  mistake,  from  the  very 
beginning,  in  his  parentage,  in  the  time  and  place 
and  manner  of  his  birth.  It  was  in  the  early  eighties, 
over  a  shabby  chemist's  shop  in  Wandsworth  High 
Street,  and  it  came  of  the  union  of  Fnlleymore  Ran- 
some,  a  little,  middle-aged  chemist,  weedy,  parched, 
furtively  inebriate,  and  his  wife  Emma,  the  daugh- 
ter of  John  Randall,  a  draper. 

They  called  him  John  Randall  Fulleymore  Ran- 
some,  and  Ranny  for  short. 

Ranny  should  have  been  born  in  lands  of  adven- 
ture, under  the  green  light  of  a  virgin  forest,  or  on 
some  illimitable  prairie;  he  should  have  sailed  with 
the  vikings  or  fought  with  Cromwell's  Ironsides;  or, 
better  still,  he  should  have  run,  half-naked,  splen- 
didly pagan,  bearing  the  torch  of  Marathon. 

And  yet  he  bore  his  torch. 

From  the  very  first  his  mother  said  that  Ranny 
was  that  venturesome.  He  showed  it  in  his  ill- 
considered  and  ungovernable  determination  to  be 
bom,  and  it  was  hard  to  say  which  of  them,  Ranny 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

or  his  mother,  more  nearly  died  of  it.  She  must 
have  been  aware  that  there  was  a  hitch  somewhere; 
for,  referring  again  and  again,  as  she  did,  to  Ranny's 
venturesomeness,  she  would  say,  * '  It  beats  me  where 
he  gets  it  from." 

He  may  have  got  some  of  it  from  her,  for  she, 
poor  thing,  had  sunk,  adventurously,  in  one  disas- 
trous marriage  her  whole  stock  of  youth  and  gaiety 
and  charm.  It  was  Ranny's  youth  and  charm  and 
gaiety  that  made  him  so  surprising  and  so  un- 
accountable. 

Circumstances  were  not  encouraging  to  Ranny's 
youth,  nor  to  his  private  and  particular  ambition, 
the  cultivation  of  a  superb  physique.  For,  not  only 
was  he  a  little  chemist's  son,  he  was  a  great  furniture 
dealer's  inexpensive  and  utterly  insignificant  clerk, 
one  of  a  dozen  confined  in  a  long  mahogany  pen 
where  they  sat  at  long  mahogany  desks,  upon  high 
mahogany  stools,  making  invoices  of  chairs  and 
tables  and  wardrobes  and  washstands  and  all  man- 
ner of  furniture.  You  would  never  have  known,  to 
see  him  sitting  there,  that  John  Randall  Fulley- 
more  Ransome  was  a  leader  in  Section  I  of  the  Lon- 
don Polytechnic  Gymnasium. 

So  far,  in  his  way,  he  testified,  he  bore  his  torch. 
Confined  as  he  was  in  a  mahogany  pen,  born  and 
brought  up  in  the  odor  of  drugs,  and  surrounded  by 
every  ignominious  sign  of  disease  and  infirmity,  his 
dream  was  yet  of  cleanness,  of  health,  and  the  splen- 
dor of  physical  perfection.  The  thing  that  young 
Ransome  most  loathed  and  abhorred  was  Flabbiness, 
next  to  Flabbiness,  Weediness.  The  years  of  his 
adolescence  were  one  long  struggle  and  battle  against 
these  two.     He  had  them  ever  before  him,  and  as- 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

sociated  them,  absurdly  but  inveterately,  with  a 
pharmaceutical  chemist's  occupation;  of  Weediness 
his  father  being  the  prime  example ;  while  for  Flabbi- 
ness,  young  Mercier,  his  father's  assistant — well, 
Mercier,  as  he  said,  "took  the  biscuit."  It  was 
horrible  for  young  Ransome  to  inhabit  the  same 
house  with  young  Mercier,  because  of  his  flabbiness. 

In  all  cities  there  are  many  thousand  Ransomes, 
more  or  less  confined  in  mahogany  cages,  but  John 
Randall  Fulleymore  stands  for  all  of  them.  He  was 
one  of  those  who,  in  a  cold  twilight  on  a  Saturday 
afternoon,  stagger  from  the  trampled  field,  hot- 
eyed  under  their  wild  hair,  whose  garments  are 
stained  from  the  torn  grass  and  uptrodden  earth, 
with  here  and  there  a  rent  and  the  white  gleam  of  a 
shoulder  or  a  thigh;  whose  vivid,  virile  odor  has  a 
tang  of  earth  in  it.  He  is  the  image  and  the  type  of 
these  forlorn,  foredoomed  young  athletes,  these 
exponents  of  a  city's  desperate  adolescence,  these 
inarticulate  enthusiasts  of  the  earth.  He  bursts 
from  his  pen  in  the  evening  at  seven  or  half  past,  he 
snatches  somewhere  a  cup  of  cocoa  and  a  sandwich, 
and  at  nine  he  is  seen,  half  pagan  in  his  "  zephyr  " 
and  his  "  shorts,"  sprinting  like  mad  through  the 
main  thoroughfares.  In  siimmer  some  pitch,  more 
or  less  perfect,  waits  for  him  in  suburban  playing 
fields;  and  the  River  knows  him,  at  Battersea,  at 
Chelsea,  at  Hammersmith,  and  at  Wandsworth,  the 
River  knows  him  as  he  is,  the  indomitable  and  im- 
passioned worshiper  of  the  body  and  the  earth. 

And  if  the  moon  sees  him  sometimes  haggard, 
panting,  though  indomitable,  though  impassioned, 
reeling  on  the  last  lap  of  his  last  mile,  and  limping 
through    Wandsworth    High    Street    home    to    the 

3 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

house  of  the  weedy  pharmaceutical  chemist  his 
father,  if  the  moon  sees  Ransome,  why,  the  Moon  is 
a  lady,  and  she  does  not  tell. 

If  you  asked  him  what  he  did  it  for,  he  would 
say  you  did  it  because  it  kept  you  fit,  also  (if  you 
pressed  him)  because  it  kept  you  decent. 

And  to  know  how  right  he  was  you  had  only  to 
look  at  him,  escaped  from  his  cage ;  you  had  only  to 
follow  his  progress  through  the  lighted  streets  and 
observe  his  unbending  behavior  before  the  saluta- 
tions of  the  night.  His  fitness,  combined  with  his 
decency,  made  him  a  wonder,  a  desire,  and  a  despair. 
Slender  and  upright,  immaculately  high-collared,  his 
thin  serge  suit  molded  by  his  sheer  muscular  develop- 
ment to  the  semblance  of  perfection,  Ranny  was  a 
mark  for  loitering  feet  and  wandering  eyes.  Ranny 
was  brown-faced  and  brown-haired;  he  had  brown 
eyes  made  clear  with  a  strain  of  gray,  rather  narrow 
eyes,  ever  so  slightly  tilted,  narrowing  still,  and 
lengthening,  as  with  humor,  at  the  outer  comers. 
There  was  humor  in  his  mouth,  wide  but  fine,  that 
tilted  slightly  upward  when  he  spoke.  There  was 
humor  even  in  his  nose  with  its  subtle  curve,  the 
slender  length  of  its  bridge,  and  its  tip,  wide  spread, 
and  like  his  mouth  and  eyes,  slightly  uptilted. 

Ranny,  in  short,  was  fascinating.  And  at  every 
turn  his  mysterious  decency  betrayed  the  promise 
of  his  charm. 

It  was  Fred  Booty,  his  friend  and  companion  of 
the  pen,  who  first  put  him  in  the  right  way,  discern- 
ing in  him  a  fine  original  genius  for  adventure. 

4 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

For  when  Ranny's  mother  said  he  was  that  ven- 
turesome, she  meant  that  he  was  fond,  fantastically 
and  violently  fond  of  danger,  of  adventure.  His 
cunning  in  this  matter  beat  her  clean — how  he  found 
the  things  to  do  he  did  do;  the  things,  the  frightful 
things  he  did  about  the  house  with  bannisters  and 
windows,  of  which  she  knew.  As  for  the  things  he 
found  to  do  with  bicycles  on  Wandsworth  Common 
and  Putney  Hill  they  were  known  mainly  to  his 
Maker  and  Fred  Booty.  Booty,  who  could  judge 
(being  "a  bit  handy  with  a  bike"  himself),  said  of 
them  that  they  were  "a  fair  treat." 

But  these  were  the  deeds  of  his  boyhood,  and  in 
nineteen-two  Ransome  looked  back  on  them  with 
contempt.  Follies  they  were,  things  a  silly  kid  does; 
and  it  wasn't  by  those  monkey  tricks  that  a  fellow 
developed  his  physique.  Booty  had  found  Ransome 
in  his  attic  one  Saturday  afternoon,  a  year  ago,  half 
stripped,  and  contemplating  ruefully  what  he  con- 
ceived to  be  the  first  horrible,  mushy  dawn  of 
Flabbiness  in  his  biceps  muscle.  All  he  wanted, 
Booty  had  then  declared,  was  a  turn  or  two  at  the 
Poly.  Gym.  Then  Booty  took  Ransome  round  to 
his  place  in  Putney  Bridge  Road,  and  they  sat  on 
Booty's  bed  with  their  arms  round  each  other's 
shoulders  while  Booty  read  aloud  to  Ransome  from 
the  pages  of  the  Poly.  Prospectus.  "Booty  was  a 
slender,  agile  youth  with  an  innocent,  sanguine  face, 
the  face  of  a  beardless  faun,  finished  off  with  a  bush 
of  blond  hair  that  stood  up  from  his  forehead  like  a 
monumental  flame. 

He  read  very  slowly,  in  a  voice  that  had  in  it 
both  an  adolescent  croak  and  an  engaging  Cockney 
tang. 

5 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"The  Poly.,"  said  Booty,  "really  was  a  Club, 
'where,'  "  he  underlined  it,  "  'every  reasonable  fa- 
cil'ty  shall  bee  offered  fer  the  formation  of  a  stead- 
fast character,  and — of — true  friendships ;  fer  trainin' 
the  intellec'— '  " 

"Int'lec'  be  blowed,"  said  Ransome. 

'"And  ier  leadin'  an  upright,  unselfish  life.  Day 
by  day,'"  read  Booty,  '"the  battle  of  life  becomes 
more  strenuous.  To  succeed  entyles  careful  prepara- 
tion and  stern' — stern,  Ranny — ' deetermination,  it 
deemands  the  choice  of  good  friends  and  the  avoid- 
'nce  of  those  persons  and  things  which  tend  to 
lessen,  instead  of  to  increase  the  reesources  of  the 
individyool.'  There,  wot  d'you  think  of  that, 
Ran?" 

Ran  didn't  think  much  of  it  until  Booty  pointed 
out  to  him,  one  by  one,  the  privileges  he  would  enjoy 
as  a  member  of  the  Poly. 

For  the  ridiculous  yearly  sum  of  ten-and-six  (it  was 
all  he  could  rise  to)  Ransome  had  become  a  member 
of  the  Poly.  Ten-and-six  threw  open  to  him  every 
year  the  Poly.  Gym.,  the  Poly.  Swimming  Bath,  and 
the  Poly.  Circulating  Library.  For  ten-and-six  he 
could  further  command  the  services  (once  a  week) 
of  the  doctor  attached  to  the  Poly,  and  of  its  experi- 
enced legal  adviser. 

That  tickled  Ransome.  He  didn't  see  himself  by 
any  possibility  requiring  communion  with  that 
experienced  man.  But  it  tickled  him,  the  sheer 
fantastic  opulence  and  extravagance  of  the  thing. 
It  tickled  him  so  much  that  whenever  you  disagreed 
with  or  offended  Ransome  his  jest  was  to  refer  you, 
magnificently,  to  "my  legal  adviser." 

Yes,    for   fantastic   opulence   and   extravagance, 

6 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Ransome  had  never  seen  anything  to  beat  the  Poly. 
There  was  no  end  to  it,  no  end  to  the  privileges  you 
enjoyed.  He  positively  ran  amuck  among  his 
privileges — those,  that  is  to  say,  offered  him  by  the 
Poly.  Swimming  Bath  and  the  Poly.  Gym.  As  he 
said,  he  "fair  abused  'em."  But  he  considered  that 
the  Poly,  "got  home  again"  on  his  exceptionally 
moderate  use  of  the  Circulating  Library,  and  his 
total  abstention  from  the  Bible  Classes.  He  was  not 
yet  aware  of  any  soul  in  him  apart  from  that  abound- 
ing and  sufficing  physical  energy  expressed  in  Fitness, 
nor  was  he  violently  conscious  of  any  moral  sense 
apart  from  Decency. 

And  Ranny  despised  the  votaries  of  intellectual 
light ;  he  more  than  suspected  them  of  Weediness,  if 
not  of  Flabbiness.  Yet  (as  he  waited  for  Booty  in 
the  vestibule),  through  much  darkness  and  confusion, 
and  always  at  an  immeasurable  distance  from  him, 
he  discerned,  glory  beyond  glory,  the  things  that 
the  Poly.,  in  its  great  mercy  and  pity,  had  reserved  for 
those  "queer  johnnies."  It  made  him  giddy  merely 
to  look  at  the  posters  of  its  lectures  and  its  classes. 
It  gave  him  the  headache  to  think  of  the  things  the 
fellows — fellows  of  a  deplorable  physique — and  girls, 
too,  did  there.  For  his  part,  he  looked  forward  to 
the  day  when,  by  a  further  subscription  of  ten-and- 
six,  he  would  enroll  himself  as  a  member  of  the 
Athletic  Club. 

It  was  as  if  the  Poly,  put  out  feeler  after  feeler  to 
draw  him  to  itself.  Only  to  one  thing  he  would  not 
be  drawn.  When  Booty  advised  him  to  join  the 
Poly.  Ramblers  he  stood  firm.  For  some  shy  or 
unfathomable  reason  of  his  own  he  refused  to 
become  a  Poly.   Rambler.     When  it  came  to  the 

7 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Poly.  Ramblers  he  was  adamant.  It  was  one  of 
those  vital  points  at  which  he  resisted  this  process 
of  absorption  in  the  Poly.  Booty  denounced  his  at- 
titude as  eminently  anti-social — uppish,  he  called  it. 


CHAPTER   II 

ALL  that  winter  Ransome's  nights  and  days  were 
i\  regtilated  in  a  perfect  order  —  making  state- 
ments of  account  for  nine  hours  on  five  days  of  the 
week  and  four  on  Saturdays.  Three  evenings  for 
the  Poly.  Gym.  One  for  the  Swimming  Bath. 
One  for  sprinting.  One  (Saturday)  for  rest  or  re- 
laxation after  the  violence  of  Rugger.  One  (Sun- 
day) for  the  improvement  of  the  mind.  On  Sundays 
he  was  very  seldom  good  for  anything  else. 

But  in  the  spring  of  nineteen-two  something  stirred 
in  him,  something  watched  and  waited ;  with  a  subtle 
agitation,  a  vague  and  delicate  excitement,  it  exulted 
and  aspired.  The  sensation,  or  whatever  it  was,  had 
as  yet  no  separate  existence  of  its  own.  So  perfect, 
in  this  spring  of  nineteen-two,  was  the  harmony  of 
Ransome's  being  that  the  pulse  of  the  unborn  thing 
was  one  with  all  his  other  pulses;  it  was  one,  indis- 
tinguishably,  with  the  splendor  of  life,  the  madness 
of  running,  and  the  joy  he  took  in  his  own  remarkable 
performances  on  the  horizontal  bar.  It  had  the 
effect  of  heightening,  mysteriously  and  indescribably, 
the  joy,  the  madness,  and  the  splendor.  And  it  was 
dominant,  insistent.  Like  some  great  and  unintel- 
ligible motif  it  ran  ringing  and  sounding  through  the 
vast  rhythmic  tumult  of  physical  energy. 

Not  for  a  moment  did  he  connect  it  with  the  increas- 
ing interest  that  he  took  in  the  appearance  of  the 

9 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Young  Ladies  of  the  Poly.  Gym.  He  was  not 
aware  how  aware  he  was  of  their  coming,  nor  how  his 
heart  thumped  and  throbbed  and  his  nerves  trembled 
at  the  tramp,  tramp  of  their  feet  along  the  floor. 

For  sometimes,  it  might  be  twice  a  year,  the  young 
men  and  the  young  women  of  the  Gymnasium  met 
and  mingled  in  a  Grand  Display. 

He  was  fairly  well  used  to  it ;  and  yet  he  had  never 
got  over  his  amazement  at  finding  that  girls,  those 
things  of  constitutional  and  predestined  flabbiness, 
could  do  very  nearly  (though  not  quite)  everything 
that  he  could,  leaving  him  little  besides  his  pre- 
eminence on  the  horizontal  bar.  And  yearly  the 
regiment  of  girls  who  could  "do  things"  at  the 
Poly,  increased  under  his  very  eyes.  Their  invasion 
disturbed  him  in  his  vision  of  their  flabbiness;  it 
rubbed  it  into  him,  the  things  that  they  could  do. 

Not  but  what  he  had  felt  it — he  had  felt  them — all 
about  him,  outside,  in  the  streets  where  they  jostled 
him,  and  in  the  world  made  mostly  of  mahogany, 
the  world  of  counters  and  of  desks,  of  pens  where 
they  too  were  herded  and  shut  up  and  compelled,  like 
him,  to  toil.  Queer  things,  girls,  for  they  seemed, 
incomprehensibly,  to  like  it.  Their  liking  it,  their 
businesslike  assumption  of  equality,  their  incessant 
appearance  (authorized,  it  is  true,  by  business)  at 
the  railings  of  his  pen,  the  peculiar  disenchanting 
promiscuity  of  it  all,  preserved  young  Ransome  in 
his  eccentricity  of  indifference  to  their  sex.  In  fact, 
if  you  tried  to  talk  about  sex  to  young  Ransome 
(and  Mercier  did  try)  he  would  denounce  it  as  "  silly 
goat's  talk,"  and  your  absorption  in  it  as  "  the  most 
mutton-headed  form  of  Flabbiness  yet  out." 


lO 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

But  that  was  before  the  Grand  Display  of  the 
autumn  of  last  year,  when  Winny  Dymond  appeared 
in  the  March  Past  of  Section  I  of  the  Women's 
Gymnasium;  before  he  had  followed  Winny  as  she 
ran  at  top  speed  through  all  the  turnings  and  wind- 
ings of  the  Combined  Maze. 

There  were  about  fifty  of  them,  picked;  all  attired 
in  black  stockings,  in  dark-blue  knickerbockers,  and 
in  tunics  that  reached  to  the  knee,  red-belted  and 
trimmed  with  red.  Stunning,  he  called  them;  so 
much  so  that  they  fair  took  away  his  breath. 

That  was  what  he  said  when  it  was  all  over.  By 
that  time  he  was  ashamed  to  confess  that  at  the 
moment  of  its  apparition  the  March  Past  had  been 
somewhat  of  a  shock  to  him.  He  had  his  ideas,  and 
he  was  not  prepared  for  the  uniform ;  still  less  was  he 
prepared  for  a  personal  encounter  with  such  quan- 
tities of  young  women  all  at  once. 

All  sorts  of  girls — sturdy  and  slender  girls;  queer 
girls  with  lean,  wiry  bodies;  deceptive  girls  with 
bodies  curiously  plastic  under  the  appearance  of 
fragility;  here  a  young  miracle  of  physical  culture; 
there  a  girl  with  the  pointed  breasts  and  flying 
shoulders,  the  limbs,  the  hips,  the  questing  face  that 
recalled  some  fugitive  soul  of  the  woods  and  moun- 
tains; long-nosed,  sallow,  nervous  Jewish  girls; 
English  girls  with  stolid,  colorless  faces;  here  and 
there  a  face  rosy  and  full-blown,  or  a  pretty  tilted 
profile  and  a  wonderful,  elaborate  head  of  hair. 
One  or  two  of  these  heads  positively  lit  up  the 
procession  with  their  red  and  gold,  gave  it  the 
splendor  and  beauty  of  a  pageant. 

They  came  on,  single  file  and  double  file  and  four 
abreast,  the  long  line  doubling  and  turning  upon 

2  II 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

itself;  all  alike  in  the  straight  drop  of  the  arms  to 
the  hips,  the  rise  and  fall  of  their  black-stockinged 
legs,  the  arching  and  pointing  of  the  feet;  all  de- 
liciously  alike  in  their  air  of  indestructible  propriety. 
Here  you  caught  one  leashing  an  iniquitous  little 
smile  in  the  corners  of  her  eyes  under  her  lashes; 
or  one,  aware  of  her  proud  beauty,  and  bearing  her- 
self because  of  it,  with  the  extreme  of  indestructible 
propriety. 

There  were  no  words  to  express  young  Ransome's 
indifference  to  proud  beauty. 

If  he  found  something  tender  and  absurd  in  the 
movements  of  all  those  long  black  stocldngs,  it  was 
for  the  sake  and  on  account  of  the  long  black  stock- 
ings worn  by  little  Winny  Dymond. 

Winny  Dymond  was  not  proud,  neither  was  she 
what  he  supposed  you  would  call  beautiful.  She 
was  not  one  of  those  conspicuous  by  their  flaming 
and  elaborate  hair. 

What  he  first  noted  in  her  with  wonder  and  admira- 
tion was  the  absence  of  weediness  and  flabbiness. 
Better  known,  she  stirred  in  him,  as  a  child  might, 
an  altogether  indescribable  sense  of  tenderness  and 
absurdity.  She  stood  out  for  him  simply  by  the  fact 
that,  of  all  the  young  ladies  of  the  Polytechnic,  she 
was  the  only  one  he  really  knew — barring  Maudie 
Hollis,  and  Maudie,  though  she  was  the  proud 
beauty  of  the  Polytechnic,  didn't  count. 

For  Maudie  was  ear-marked,  so  to  speak,  as  the 
property  (when  he  could  afford  a  place  to  put  her 
in)  of  Fred  Booty.  Ransome  would  no  more  have 
dreamed  of  cultivating  an  independent  acquaintance 
with  Maudie  than  he  would  of  pocketing  the  silver 
cup  that  Booty  won  in  last  year's  Hurdle  Race.     It 

12 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

was  because  of  Maudie,  and  at  Booty's  irresistible  re- 
quest, that  he,  the  slave  of  friendship,  had  consented, 
unwillingly  and  perfunctorily  at  first,  to  become 
Miss  Dymond's  cavalier.  Maudie,  also  at  Booty's 
passionate  appeal,  had  for  six  months  shared  with 
Winny  Dymond  a  room  off  Wandsworth  High  Street, 
so  that,  as  he  put  it,  he  might  feel  that  she  was  near 
him;  with  the  desolating  result  that  they  weren't  by 
any  means,  no,  not  by  a  long  chalk,  so  near.  For 
Maudie,  out  of  levity  or  sheer  exuberant  kindness 
of  the  heart,  had  persuaded  Winny  Dymond  to  join 
the  Polytechnic.  In  her  proud  beauty  and  in  her 
affianced  state  she  could  afford  to  be  exuberantly 
kind.  And  Booty  in  his  vision  of  nearness  had  been 
counting  on  the  long  journey  by  night  from  Regent 
Street  to  Wandsworth  High  Street  alone  with 
Maudie;  and,  though  Miss  Dymond  practically 
effaced  herself,  it  wasn't — with  a  girl  of  Maudie's 
temperament — the  same  thing  at  all.  For  Maudie 
in  company  was  apt  to  be  a  little  stiff  and  stand- 
offish in  her  manner. 

Then  (one  afternoon  in  the  autumn  of  last  year 
it  was)  Booty  sounded  Ransome,  finding  himself 
alone  with  him  in  the  mahogany  pen  when  the  senior 
clerks  were  at  their  tea.  "1  sy,"  he  said,  "there's 
something  I  want  you  to  do  for  me,"  and  Ransome, 
in  his  recklessness,  his  magnificence,  said  "Right-0!" 

He  said  afterward  that  he  had  gathered  from  the 
expression  of  his  friend's  face  that  his  trouble  was 
financial,  a  matter  of  five  bob,  or  fifteen  at  the  very 
worst.  And  you  could  trust  Boots  to  pay  up  any 
day.  So  that  he  was  properly  floored  when  Boots, 
in  a  thick,  earnest  voice,  explained  the  nature  of  the 
service  he  required — that  he,  Ransome,  should  go 

13 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

with  him,  nightly,  to  a  convenient  corner  of  Oxford 
Street,  and  there  collar  that  kid,  Winny  Dymond, 
and  lug  her  along. 

"Do  you  mean,"  asked  Ransome,  "walk  home 
with  her?" 

Well,  yes;  that,  Booty  intimated,  was  about  £he 
size  of  it.  She  was  a  Wandsworth  girl,  and  they'd 
got,  he  supposed,  all  four  of  them,  to  get  there. 

He  was  trying  to  carry  it  off,  to  give  an  air  of  in- 
evitability to  his  preposterous  proposal.  But  as 
young  Ransome's  face  expressed  his  agony.  Booty 
became  almost  abject  in  supplication.  He  didn't 
know,  Ranny  didn't,  what  it  was  to  be  situated  like 
he.  Booty,  was.  Booty  wanted  to  know  how  he'd 
feel  if  it  was  him.  To  be  gone  on  a  girl  like  he  was 
and  only  see  her  of  an  evenin'  and  then  not  be  able 
to  get  any  nearer  her,  because  of  havin'  to  make 
polite  reemarks  to  that  wretched  kid  she  was  always 
cartin'  round.  At  that  rate  he  might  just  as  well 
not  be  engaged  at  all — to  Maudie;  better  engage 
himself  to  the  bloomin'  kid  at  once.  It  wasn't  as 
if  he  had  a  decent  chance  of  bein'  spliced  for  good 
in  a  year  or  two's  time.  His  evenin's  and  his 
Sundays  and  so  forth  were  jolly  well  all  he'd  got. 
It  was  all  very  well  for  Ransome,  he  wasn't  gone  on 
a  girl,  else  he'd  know  how  erritatin'  it  was  to  the 
nerves.  And  if  Ranny  hadn't  got  the  spunk  to 
stand  by  a  pal  and  see  him  through,  why,  then 
he'd  cut  the  Poly,  and  make  Maudie  cut  it  too. 

To  most  of  this  Ranny  was  silent,  for  it  seemed 
to  him  that  Boots  was  mad,  or  near  it.  But  at  that 
threat,  so  terrible  to  him,  so  terrible  to  the  Poly- 
technic, so  terrible  to  Booty,  and  so  palpable  a  sign 
of  his  madness,  he  gave  in.     He  said  it  was  all  right, 

14 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

only  he  didn't  know  what  on  earth  he  was  to  say  to 
her. 

Booty  recovered  his  natural  airiness.  "Oh,"  he 
threw  it  off,  "yovL  say  nothing." 

And  for  the  first  night  or  so,  as  far  as  Ransome 
could  remember,  that  was  what  he  did  say. 

And  he  wasn't  really  clever  at  collaring  her, 
either.  There  was  something  elusive,  fugitive,  un- 
catchable  about  Winny  Dymond.  It  was  Booty, 
driven  by  love  to  that  extremity,  who  collared 
Maudie  and  walked  off  with  her,  with  a  suddenness 
and  swiftness  that  left  them  stranded  and  amazed. 
"Fair  pace-makin',"  Ransome  called  it. 

And  Winny  struggled  and  strove  with  those  little 
legs  of  hers  (jolly  little  legs  he  knew  they  were,  too, 
in  their  long  black  stockings),  strove  and  struggled, 
as  if  her  Hfe  depended  on  it,  to  overtake  them. 
And  it  was  then  that  Ransome  felt  the  first  pricking 
of  that  sense  of  tenderness  and  absurdity. 

He  felt  it  again  after  a  long  silence  when,  as  they 
were  going  toward  Wandsworth  Bridge,  Winny  sud- 
denly addressed  him. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "you  needn't  trouble 
about  me.'' 

"I'm  not  troublin',"  he  said.  " Leastways— that 
is — "  he  hesitated  and  was  lost. 

"You  are,"  said  she,  with  decision,  "if  you  think 
you've  got  to  see  me  home." 

He  said  he  thought  that,  considering  the  lateness 
of  the  hour  and  the  loneliness  of  the  scene,  it  was 
better  that  he  should  accompany  her. 

"But  I  can  accompany  myself,"  said  she. 

He  smiled  at  the  vision  of  Miss  Dymond  accom- 
panying herself,  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  too — the 

15 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

idea!  He  smiled  at  it  as  if  he  saw  in  it  something 
tender  and  absurd.  He  knew,  of  course,  for  he  was 
not  absolutely  without  experience,  that  giris  said 
these  things;  they  said  them  to  draw  fellows  on; 
it  was  their  artfulness.  There  was  a  word  for  it; 
Ransome  thought  the  word  was  "cock-a-tree."  But 
Winny  Dymond  didn't  say  those  things — the  least 
like  that.  She  said  them  with  the  utmost  gravity 
and  determination.  You  might  almost  have  thought 
she  was  offended  but  for  the  absence  in  her  tone  of 
any  annoyance  or  embarrassment.  Her  tone,  indeed, 
suggested  serene  sincerity  and  a  sort  of  sympathy, 
the  serious  and  compassionate  consideration  of  his 
painful  case.  It  was  as  if  she  had  been  aware  all 
along  of  the  frightful  predicament  he  had  been 
placed  in  by  Fred  Booty;  as  if  she  divined  and 
understood  his  anguish  in  it  and  desired  to  help  him 
out.     That  was  evidently  her  idea — to  help  him  out. 

And  as  it  grew  on  him — ^her  idea — it  grew  on  him 
also  that  there  was  a  kind  of  fascination  about  the 
little  figure  in  its  long  dark-blue  coat. 

She  wasn't — he  supposed  she  wasn't — pretty,  but 
he  found  himself  agreeably  affected  by  her.  He 
liked  the  queer  look  of  her  face,  which  began  with  a 
sort  of  squarishness  in  roundness  and  ended,  with 
a  sudden  startling  change  of  intention,  in  a  pointed 
chin.  He  liked  the  clear  sallow  and  faint  rose  of  her 
skin,  and  her  mouth  which  might  have  been  too  large 
if  it  had  not  been  so  firm  and  fine.  He  liked,  vaguely, 
without  knowing  that  he  liked  it,  the  quietness  of  her 
brown  eyes  and  the  faint,  half -wondering  arch  above 
them;  and  quite  definitely  he  liked  the  way  she 
parted  her  brown  hair  in  the  middle  and  smoothed 
it  till  it  lay  in  two  long,  low  waves  (just  discernible 

i6 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

under  the  brim  of  her  hat)  upon  her  forehead.  He 
did  not  know  that  long  afterward  he  was  never  to 
see  Winny  Dymond's  eyes  and  parted  hair  without 
some  vision  of  strength  and  profound  placidity  and 
cleanness. 

All  he  said  was  he  supposed  there  was  no  law 
against  his  occupying  the  same  pavement ;  and  then 
he  could  have  sworn  that  Winny 's  face  sent  a  little 
ghost  of  a  smile  flitting  past  him  through  the  night. 

"Well,  anyhow,"  she  said,  "you  needn't  talk  to  me 
unless  you  like." 

And  at  that  he  threw  his  head  back  and  laughed 
aloud.  And  quite  suddenly  the  moon  came  out  and 
stared  at  them ;  came  bang  up  on  their  left  above  the 
River  (they  were  on  the  bridge  now)  out  of  a  great 
cloud,  a  blazing  and  enormous  moon.  It  tickled 
him.  He  called  her  attention  to  it,  and  said  he  didn't 
remember  that  he'd  ever  seen  such  a  proper  whopper 
of  a  moon  and  with  such  a  shine  on  him.  They 
hadn't  half  poHshed  him,  he  said.  Any  one  would 
think  that  things  had  all  busted,  got  turned  bottom 
side  upward,  and  it  was  the  bally  old  sun  that 
was  up  there,  grinnin'  at  them,  through  the  hole 
he'd  made. 

"The  idea!"  said  Winny;  but  she  laughed  at  it, 
a  little  shrill  and  irresistible  titter  of  deHght  always, 
as  he  was  to  learn,  her  homage  to  "ideas."  He  had 
them  sometimes ;  they  came  on  him  all  of  a  sudden, 
like  that,  and  he  couldn't  help  it;  he  couldn't  stop 
them;  he  got  them  all  the  worse,  all  the  more  im- 
govemably,  when  Booty  lunged  at  him,  as  he  did, 
with  his  "Dry  up,  you  silly  blighter,  you!"  But 
that  anybody  should  take  pleasure  in  his  ideas,  that 
was  an  idea,  if  you  like,  to  Ransome. 

17 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

They  got  on  after  that  Hke  a  house  on  fire. 


But  only  for  that  night.  For  many  nights  that 
followed  Winny  proved  more  fugitive,  more  uncatch- 
able  than  ever.  As  often  as  not,  when  they  arrived 
in  Oxford  Street,  she  would  be  gone,  fled  half  an  hour 
before  them,  accompanying  herself  all  the  way  to 
Wandsworth.  Once  he  pursued  her  down  Oxford 
Street,  coming  up  with  her  as  she  boarded  a  bus  in 
full  flight ;  and  they  sat  in  it  in  gravity  and  silence, 
as  strangers  to  each  other.  But  nearly  always  she 
was  too  quick  for  him;  she  got  away.  And  never 
(he  thanked  Heaven  for  that,  long  afterward),  never 
for  a  moment  did  he  misunderstand  her.  She  made 
that  impossible  for  him;  impossible  to  forget  that 
in  her  and  all  her  shyness  there  was  no  art  at  all  of 
"cock-a-tree,"  only  her  fixed  and  funny  determina- 
tion not  "to  put  upon  him." 

And  so  the  seeing  home  of  Winny  Dymond  became 
a  fascinating  and  uncertain  game,  fascinating  because 
of  its  uncertainty ;  it  had  all  the  agitation  and  allure- 
ment of  pursuit  and  capture;  if  she  had  wanted  to 
allure  and  agitate  him,  no  art  of  ' '  cock-a-tree ' '  could 
have  served  her  better.  He  was  determined  to  see 
Winny  Dymond  home. 

And  all  the  time  it  grew,  it  grew  on  him,  that 
sense  of  tenderness  and  absurdity.  He  found  it — 
that  ineffable  and  poignant  quality — in  everything 
about  her  and  in  everything  she  did — in  the  gravity 
of  her  deportment  at  the  Poly. ;  in  her  shy  essaying 
of  the  parallel  bars;  in  the  incredible  swiftness  with 
which  she  ran  before  him  in  the  Maze;  in  the  way 
her  hair,  tied  up  with  an  immense  black  bow  in  a 

i8 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

door-knocker  plat,  rose  and  fell  forever  on  her 
shoulders  as  she  ran.  He  found  it  in  the  fact  he 
had  discovered  that  her  companions  called  her  by- 
absurd  and  tender  names;  Winky,  and  even  Winks, 
they  called  her. 

That  was  in  the  autumn  of  nineteen-one ;  and 
he  was  finding  it  all  over  again  now  in  the  spring  of 
nineteen-two. 

At  last,  he  didn't  know  how  it  happened,  but  one 
night,  having  caught  up  with  her  after  a  hot  chase, 
close  by  the  railings  of  the  Parish  Church  in  Wands- 
worth High  Street,  in  the  very  moment  of  parting 
from  her  he  turned  round  and  said,  "Look  here, 
Miss  Dymond,  you  think  I  don't  like  seeing  you 
home,  don't  you?" 

"To  be  sure  I  do.  It  must  be  a  regular  nuisance, 
night  after  night,"  she  answered. 

"Well,  it  isn't,"  he  said.  "I  like  it.  But  look 
here — ^if  you  hate  it — " 

"Me?" 

She  said  it  with  a  simple,  naive  amazement, 

"Yes,  you." 

He  was  almost  brutal. 

"But  I  don't.     What  an  idea!" 

"Well,  if  you  don't,  that  settles  it.     Don't  it?" 

And  it  did. 


CHAPTER  III 

IT   was   the   night  of  the  Grand  Display  of  the 
spring  of  nineteen- two. 

To  the  Gymnasium  of  the  London  Polytechnic  you 
ascended  (in  nineteen-two)  as  to  a  temple  by  a  flight 
of  steps,  and  found  yourself  in  a  great  oblong  room 
of  white  walls,  with  white  pillars  supporting  the 
gallery  that  ran  all  round  it.  The  railing  of  the* 
gallery  was  of  iron  tracery,  painted  green,  with  a 
brass  balustrade.  The  great  clean  white  space,  the 
long  ropes  for  the  trapezes  which  hung  from  the 
ceiling  and  were  looped  up  now  to  the  stanchions, 
the  coarse  canvas  of  the  mattresses,  the  disciplined 
lines,  the  tramping  feet,  the  commanding  voices  of 
the  instructors,  gave  a  confused  and  dreamlike 
suggestion  of  the  lower  deck  of  a  man-of-war.  To- 
night, under  the  west  end  of  the  gallery,  a  small 
platform  was  raised  for  the  Mayor  of  Marylebone 
and  a  score  of  guests.  The  galleries  themselves  were 
packed  with  members  of  the  Polytechnic  and  their 
friends. 

The  programme  of  the  Grand  Display  announced 
as  its  first  item : 

PARALLEL  BARS 

Tableau  by 

Messrs.  Booty,  Tyser,  Buist,  Wauchope,  and 

J.  R.  F.  Ransome 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

There  was  a  murmur  of  surreptitious,  half -ironic 
applause.      "Stick  it,  Ransome;  stick  it,  old  boy!" 

The  reference  was  to  his  extraordinary  attitude. 

J.  R.  F.  Ransome  appeared  as  the  apex  and  the 
crown  of  a  rude  triangular  structure  whose  base  was 
formed  by  the  high  parallel  bars,  flanked  at  each 
end  by  two  bodies  (Booty  and  Tyser  front),  two 
supple  adolescent  bodies,  bent  backward  like  two 
bows.  He  stood  head  downward  on  his  hands  that 
grasped  and  were  supported  by  the  locked  arms  of 
two  solid  athletes,  Buist  and  Wauchope,  themselves 
mounted  gloriously  and  perilously  on  the  straining 
bars. 

Considered  as  to  his  arms,  and  the  white  "zephyr" 
and  flannels  that  he  wore,  he  was  merely  a  marvelous 
young  man  balancing  himself  with  difficulty  in  an 
unnatural  posture.  But  his  body,  uptilted,  poised 
as  by  a  miracle  in  air,  with  the  slender  curve  of  its 
back,  its  flattened  hips,  its  feet  laid  together  like 
wings  folded  in  the  first  downrush,  might  have  been 
the  body  of  a  young  immortal  descending  with  facile 
precipitancy  to  earth. 

He  maintained  for  a  sensible  moment  his  appear- 
ance of  having  just  flown  from  the  roof  of  the 
Gymnasium.  Far  below,  the  photographer  fumbled 
leisurely  with  his  apparatus. 

"Hurry  up,  there!"  "Stick  it,  Ransome!"  "Half 
a  mo!"  "Stick  it,  Ranny;  stick  it!"  they  whispered. 
"Steady  does  it." 

And  Ranny  stuck  it.  Ranny  actually,  from  his 
awftil  eminence,  sang  out,  "No  fear!" 

The  flashlight  immortalized  his  moment. 

That  was  his  way — to  stick  it;  to  see  it  out;  to 
go  through  with  the  adventure  alert  and  gay,  wear- 

21 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

ing  that  fine  smile  of  his,  so  extravagantly  uplifted 
at  the  comers.  "Stick  it!"  was  the  motto  of  his 
individual  recklessness  and  of  the  dogged,  enduring 
conservatism  of  his  class.  It  kept  him  in  a  mahogany- 
pen,  at  a  mahogany  desk,  for  forty-four  hours  a 
week,  and  it  sustained  him  in  his  orgies  of  physical 
energy  at  the  Poly.  Gym. 

Best  of  all,  it  sustained  him  in  his  daily  and 
nightly  encounters  with  young  Mercier, 

He  was  all  the  more  determined  to  stick  it  by  the 
knowledge  that  young  Mercier  was  up  there  in  the 
gallery  looking  at  him.  He  could  see  him  leaning 
over  the  balustrade  and  smiling  at  him  atrociously. 
He  took  advantage  of  an  interval  and  joined  him. 
He  was  half  inclined  to  ask  him  what  he  meant  by  it. 
For  he  was  always  at  it.  Whenever  young  Mer- 
cier caught  Ranny  doing  a  sprint  he  smiled  atro- 
ciously. At  Wandsworth,  behind  the  coimter,  or 
in  the  little  zinc-roofed  dispensing-room  at  the  back, 
among  the  horribly  smelling  materials  of  his  craft, 
he  smiled,  remembering  him. 

Mercier  was  a  black-haired,  thick-set  youth  with 
heavy  features  in  a  heavy,  pasty  face,  a  face  oddly 
decorated  by  immense  and  slightly  prominent  blue 
eyes,  a  face  where  all  day  long  the  sensual  dream 
brooded  heavily.  His  black  eyebrows  gave  it  a 
certain  accent  and  distinction.  It  was  because  of 
his  dream  that  Leonard  Mercier  could  afford  to 
smile. 

He  was  one  of  those  who  wanted  to  know  what 
Ranny  did  it  for.  He  couldn't  see  what  fun  the 
young  goat  got  out  of  his  evenings.  Not  half,  no, 
nor  a  quarter  of  what  he,  Mercier,  could  get  from 
one  night  at  the  Empire  or  when  he  took  his  girl  to 

22 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Earl's  Court  or  the  Wandsworth  Coliseum.  And, 
though  up  there  in  the  gallery  he  had  said  ' '  By  Jove !" 
and  that  he  was  bio  wed,  and  that  that  young  Ran- 
some  was  a  corker,  though  he  boasted  to  three  entire 
strangers  that  that  young  fellow  was  a  friend  of  his, 
his  curiosity  was  still  unsatisfied.  He  still  wanted 
to  know  what  the  young  goat  did  it  for. 

He  wanted  to  know  it  now.  And  at  his  insistence 
young  Ransome  was  abashed.  How  could  he  ex- 
plain to  old  Eno  what  he  did  it  for  or  what  it  felt 
like?  He  couldn't  explain  it  to  himself,  he  had  no 
words  for  it,  for  that  ecstasy  of  living,  that  fusion 
of  all  faculties  in  one  rhythm  and  one  vibration, 
one  continuous  transport  of  physical  energy.  Take 
sprinting  alone.  How  could  he  convey  to  Jujubes 
in  his  disgusting  flabbiness  any  sense  of  the  fine 
madness  of  running,  of  the  race  of  the  blood  through 
the  veins,  of  the  hammer  strokes  of  the  heart,  of 
the  soft  pad  of  the  feet  on  the  highway  ?  To  Jujubes, 
who  went  in  like  a  cushion  no  matter  where  you 
prodded  him,  how  describe  the  feel  of  a  taut  muscle, 
the  mounting  swell  of  it,  the  resistance,  and  the 
small,  almost  impalpable  ripple  and  throb  under 
the  skin?     He  couldn't  have  described  it  to  himself. 

So  he  gave  Jujubes  his  invariable  casual  answer. 
You  did  it  because  it  kept  you  fit  and  because  (he 
let  old  Eno  have  it)  it  kept  you  decent.  Old  Eno 
would  be  a  lot  decenter  if  he  went  in  for  it.  It 
would  do  him  worlds  of  good. 

To  which  old  Eno  replied  that  he  thought  he  saw 
himself!  As  for  joining  Ranny's  precious  old  Poly., 
why,  for  all  the  Life  you  were  likely  to  see  there,  you 
might  as  well  be  in  a  young  ladies'  boarding-school. 
And  Ransome  said  that  that  was  where  Jujubes 

«3 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

ought  to  be.  He  liked  young  ladies.  Among  them 
(he  intimated)  his  flabbiness  might  not  excite  re- 
mark.    Girls  (he  pondered  it)  were  flabby  things. 

Chivalry  constrained  him  to  a  mental  reservation: 
Winny  Dymond  and  the  young  ladies  of  the  Poly. 
Gym.  excepted. 

But  he  was  glad  that  Mercier  didn't  stay  to  see 
them.  Young  Leonard  (whose  smile  was  growing 
more  and  more  atrocious)  had  declared  that  the 
young  ladies  of  the  Empire  ballet  were  a  bit  more  in 
his  line,  and  he  had  made  off,  elbowing  his  way 
through  the  crowded  gallery  and  crooning  "Boys  of 
the  Empire!"  as  he  went,  while  Ransome  pursued 
him  with  the  scornful  adjuration  to  "Go  home  and 
take  a  saline  draught!" 

But  you  couldn't  shame  old  Eno.  He  triumphed 
and  exulted  in  his  flabbiness.  For  he  was  a  Boy  of 
the  Empire.  He  had  seen  Life,  and  would  see  more 
and  more  of  it. 


Ransome  went  down  again  into  the  hall.  He  re- 
moved himself  from  the  crowd  and  leaned  against  a 
pillar,  in  abstraction,  arms  folded,  showing  the  great 
muscles;  a  splendid  figure  in  his  white  "zephyr" 
trimmed  with  crimson,  with  the  crimson  sash  of 
leadership  knotted  at  his  side.  Thus  withdrawn, 
he  watched,  half  furtively,  the  performance  of  the 
young  ladies  of  the  Polytechnic  Gymnasium. 

One  by  one,  with  an  air  incorruptibly  decorous, 
the  young  ladies  of  the  Polytechnic  Gymnasium 
hurled  themselves  upon  the  parallel  bars;  they 
waggled  themselves  by  their  hands  along  them; 
they  swung  themselves  from  side  to  side  of  them,  and 

24 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

outstretched  themselves  between  them  with  a  foot 
and  a  hand  upon  each  bar;  they  raised  their  bodies, 
thus  supported,  hke  an  arch;  they  slackened  them 
and  flung  themselves  (with  a  crescendo  of  decorous 
delirium)  from  side  to  side  again,  and  over;  alighting 
on  their  feet  in  a  curtseying  posture  and  with  the 
left  arm  extended  in  a  little  perfunctory  gesture  of 
demonstration  to  the  audience,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"There  you  are,  and  nothing  could  be  easier!" 

Nothing  could  be  more  conventional  and  more 
unspeakably  correct.  Only  when  Winny  Dj^mond 
did  it  there  was  a  difference,  or  it  seemed  so  to  young 
Ransome.  Winny  approached  the  bars  with  shyness 
and  a  certain  earnestness  and  gravity  of  intent.  She 
hesitated;  for  a  moment  she  was  adorable  in  vacil- 
lation. She  shook  her  head  at  the  bars,  she  bit  her 
lip  at  them;  she  set  her  face  at  them  in  defiance; 
then,  with  a  sudden  amazing  celerity  she  gave  a 
little  run  forward  and  leaped  upon  them;  she  swung 
herself  in  perfect  rhythm  and  motion  onward  and 
upward  and  from  side  to  side ;  she  arched  her  sturdy 
but  exquisitely  supple  body  like  a  bridge,  flung  her- 
self over  as  if  in  pure  abandonment  of  joy  and 
lighted  on  her  feet,  curtseying  correctly  but  with 
something  piteous  in  the  gesture  of  the  outstretched 
arm,  and  upon  her  face  an  expression  of  great  sur- 
prise and  wonder  at  herself,  as  if  Winny  said,  not 
"There  you  are!"  but  "Here  I  am,  and  oh,  I  never 
thought  I  should  be!" 

And  from  his  place  by  the  pillar  Ransome  gave  the 
little  inarticulate  murmur  he  reserved  for  Winny. 
It  was  charged  with  his  sense  of  tenderness  and 
absurdity. 


25 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

A  quarter  to  ten.  His  own  performances — ^his 
wonderful  performances  on  the  horizontal  bar — were 
over;  and  over  the  demonstration  by  F.  Booty  with 
the  Indian  clubs,  where  young  Fred,  slender  and 
supple  as  a  faun,  played  on  his  own  muscles 
in  faultless  rhythm.  And  now  with  an  eye  upon 
the  Mayor  the  order  was  given  for  the  last  item  on 
the  programme : 

THE  COMBINED  MAZE 

There  was  a  rush  of  energetic  young  men  who 
flung  themselves  upon  the  properties  of  the  Gymna- 
sium. They  ran  them — the  parallel  bars,  the  horses, 
the  mattresses — in  under  the  galleries;  they  up- 
rooted the  posts  of  the  horizontal  bar;  they  cleared 
the  whole  of  the  vast  oblong  space  bounded  by  the 
pillars. 

An  attendant  then  appeared  with  a  bit  of  chalk 
in  his  hand,  and  with  the  chalk  he  drew  upon  the 
floor  certain  mystic  circles,  one  at  each  corner  of  the 
oblong,  one  in  the  center,  the  heart  of  the  Maze,  and 
facing  it  two  smaller  circles,  one  at  each  side  on  a 
visionary  line.  Seven  mystic,  seven  sacred  circles 
in  all  did  he  draw,  and  vanished,  unconscious  of  the 
sanctity  and  symbolism  of  his  deed. 

For  he,  with  his  bit  of  white  chalk,  had  marked  the 
course  for  the  great  running,  for  the  race  that  the 
young  men  and  the  young  girls  run  together  with  the 
racing  of  the  stars,  for  the  unloosening  of  the  holy 
primal  energies  in  a  figure  and  a  measure  and  a 
ritual  old  as  time. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  the  instructor  (blind  in- 
strument of  unspeakably  mysterious  forces)  to  pre- 

26 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

tend  that  he  invented  it,  that  august  figure  of  the 
seven-circled  Maze;  to  explain  it,  as  he  does  to  the 
inquiring,  by  the  analogy  of  a  billiard  table  with  its 
pockets.  For  never  yet,  on  any  billiard  table,  was 
a  race  run  and  a  contest  waged  like  that  in  which 
these  young  men  and  girls  ran  and  contended. 
Drawn  up  at  the  far  end  of  the  hall  under  the  east 
gallery  in  two  ranks,  four-breasted,  the  men  on  the  one 
side  and  the  women  on  the  other,  they  waited,  and 
the  leader  of  each  rank  had  a  foot  on  a  corner  circle. 
They  waited,  marking  time  with  their  feet,  first, 
to  the  thudding  beat  of  the  bar-bell  on  the  floor  and 
then  to  an  unheard  measure,  secret  and  restrained, 
the  murmur  of  life  in  the  blood,  the  rhythm  of  the 
soundless  will,  the  beat  of  the  unseen,  urging  energy, 
that  gathered  to  intensity,  desirous  of  the  race. 

As  yet  the  soul  of  it  slept  in  their  rigid  bodies, 
their  grave,  forward-looking  faces,  their  behavior,  so 
excessively  correct.  Somebody  whispered  the  word, 
and  oil  a  sudden  they  let  themselves  go;  they 
started.  Young  Tyser,  breasting  the  wind  of  his 
own  speed,  his  head  uplifted  and  thrown  backward, 
led  the  men,  and  she  with  the  questing  face  and  wide- 
pointing  breasts  of  Artemis  led  the  girls ;  and  he  had 
young  Ransome  on  his  heels  and  she  Winny;  and 
behind  them  the  fourfold  serried  ranks  thinned  and 
thinned  out  and  spun  themselves  in  two  lines  of 
single  file,  two  threads,  one  white,  one  dark  blue, 
both  flecked  with  crimson,  two  threads  that  in  their 
running  were  wound  and  unwound  and  woven  in  a 
pattern,  dark  blue  and  white  and  crimson,  that  ran 
and  never  paused  and  never  ended  and  was  never 
the  same.  For  first,  each  line  was  flung  slantwise 
from  the  corner  circle  whence  it  had  started,  and 
3  27 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

where  the  two  met,  point  by  point  perpetually,  in  the 
center  circle,  they  as  it  were  intersected,  men  and 
women  wriggling,  sliding,  and  darting  with  incredible 
dexterity  through  each  other's  ranks;  and  the  pat- 
tern wa,s  a  cross,  a  tricolor.  Then  they  wheeled 
round  the  circle  that  was  and  was  not  their  goal,  and 
did  it  all  over  again;  but  instead  of  intersecting  at 
the  center  circle  they  struck  off  there  at  a  tangent, 
and  the  pattern,  blue  by  blue  divided  from  white  by 
white,  and  all  red-flecked,  was  two  wide  V's  set  point 
to  point,  a  pattern  that  ran  away  and  vanished  as 
each  thread,  returning,  wheeled  round  the  circle 
whence  the  other  thread  had  started. 

And  all  this  at  the  top  speed  set  by  Tyser,  and 
with  the  thud  of  the  men's  feet  and  the  pad  of  the 
women's;  all  this  with  a  secret  challenge  and  defiance 
of  one  sex  to  the  other,  with  separation  and  estrange- 
ment, with  a  never-ending,  baffling  approach  and 
flight,  with  the  furtive  darting  of  man  from  woman 
and  of  woman  from  man,  whirled  in  their  courses 
from  each  other  as  they  met. 

And  now  the  lines  doubled ;  they  were  running  two 
abreast,  slantwise;  and  as  they  intersected  in  the 
sacred  center  circle  it  was  with  a  mingling  of  the 
threads,  a  weaving  of  blue  with  white,  and  white  with 
blue;  so  that  each  man  had  in  flight  before  him  a 
maiden,  and  so  that  at  their  circles,  east  and  west, 
where  they  wheeled  they  wheeled  together,  side  by 
side,  as  the  Maze  flung  them.  And  now  they  were 
circling  and  serpentining  up  and  down,  and  down  and 
up,  with  contrary  motion,  in  a  double  figure  of  eight ; 
they  were  winding  in  and  out  among  the  pillars 
and  wheeling  round  the  middle  circles  north  and 
south,  side  by  side,  till  they  split  there  and  parted 

28 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

and  met  again  in  the  center  and  were  flung  from  it, 
to  wheel  again  deHriously,  double  -  ringed,  round 
all  the  six  outermost  circles  at  once. 

And  now,  as  if  they  were  torn  from  the  ends  of  the 
earth  by  the  irresistible  attraction  of  the  seventh 
circle,  they  were  whirling  round  the  center  in  a 
double  ring,  a  ring  of  young  men  round  a  ring  of 
girls;  and  then,  as  by  some  mysterious  compulsion, 
they  divided  and  cast  themselves  off  in  rows  of  two 
couples,  man  and  girl  by  man  and  girl,  linked  with 
arms  on  each  other's  shoulders,  eight  rows  in  all, 
eight  spokes  that  sprang  from  the  sacred  circle 
ringed  with  eight,  four  men  and  four  girls,  who  were 
the  felly  of  the  wheel,  all  running,  all  revolving. 
Such  was  the  magic  of  the  Maze,  and  the  unconscious 
genius  of  the  instructor,  that  the  pattern  of  the 
running  wound  and  unwound  and  knit  itself  together 
in  the  supreme  symbol  of  the  great  Wheel  of  Eight 
Spokes,  the  Wheel  of  Life. 

And  the  ancient  rhythmic  rush  and  race  of  the 
worlds,  and  the  wheeling  of  all  stars,  the  swinging 
and  dancing  of  all  atoms,  the  streaming  and  eddying 
of  the  ancestral  stuff  of  life  was  in  the  whirling  of 
that  living  Wheel;  it  was  one  immortal  motion, 
continuous  and  triumphant  in  the  bodies  of  those 
men  and  maidens  as  they  ran.  And  they,  shop- 
girls and  shop-boys  and  young  clerks,  slipped  off 
their  memories  of  the  desk  and  counter,  and  a  joy, 
an  instinct,  and  a  sense  that  had  no  memory  woke 
in  them,  savage,  virgin,  and  shy;  the  pure  and  per- 
fect joy  of  the  young  body  in  its  own  strength  and 
speed;  the  instinct  of  the  hunter  of  the  hills  and 
woodlands;  the  sense  of  feet  padding  on  grass  and 
fallen  leaves,  of  ears  pricking  alert,  of  eyes  that  face 

29 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

the  dawn  on  the  high  downs  and  go  glancing  through 
the  coverts.  And  as  this  radiant  and  vehement  Hfe 
rose  in  them  hke  a  tide  their  gravity  and  shyness  and 
severity  passed  from  them;  here  and  there  hair  was 
loosened,  combs  were  shed,  and  nobody  stopped  to 
gather  them;  for  frenzy  seized  on  the  young  men, 
and  their  arms  pressed  on  the  girls'  shoulders,  urging 
the  pace  faster  and  faster;  and  light,  swift  as  their 
flying  feet,  shot  from  their  eyes,  and  they  laughed 
each  to  the  other  as  they  ran.  So  divine  was  now 
the  madness  of  their  running,  so  inspired  the  whirling 
of  the  Wheel,  that  the  thing  showed  plainly  as  the 
undying,  immemorial  ecstasy;  showed  as  the  secret 
dance  of  magic  and  of  mystery,  taken  over  by  the 
London  Polytechnic,  and,  at  the  very  moment  when 
its  corybantic  nature  most  declared  itself,  constrained 
to  an  order  and  a  beauty  tremendous  and  austere. 
:  ,So  wise  and  powerful  was  the  London  Poly- 
technic. 

For  Ransome,  mixed  with  that  joy  of  the  running, 
there  was  a  joy  of  his  own,  an  instinct  and  a  sense, 
virgin  and  shy,  absolved  from  memory.  He  found 
it,  when  Winny  Dymond  ran  before  him,  in  the 
slender,  innocent  movement  of  her  hips  under  her 
thin  tunic,  in  the  absurd  flap-flapping  of  the  door- 
knocker plat  on  her  shoulders,  in  the  glances  flicked 
at  him  by  the  tail  of  her  eye  as  she  wheeled  from  him 
in  the  endless  pursuit  and  capture  and  approach  and 
flight,  as  she  was  parted,  was  flung  from  him  and 
returned  to  him  in  the  windings  of  the  Maze.  He 
found  it  to  perfection  in  the  pressure  of  each  other's 
arms  as  the  Maze  wed  them  and  whirled  them 
rimning,  locked  together  in  the  pattern  of  the  wheel. 
It  was  not  love  so  much  as  some  inspired  sense  of 

3© 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

comradeship  mingled  inextricably  with  that  other 
sense  of  absurdity  and  tenderness. 

Not  love,  not  passion,  even  when  in  the  excitement 
of  the  running  she  swerved  to  the  wrong  side  and  he 
had  to  turn  her  with  his  two  hands  upon  her  waist. 
For  it  was  the  law  of  their  running  that,  though  it 
was  one  with  the  movement  of  life  itself,  mysteri- 
ously, while  the  thing  lasted,  it  precluded  passion. 


CHAPTER  IV 

RANSOME  left  Winny  Dymond  at  St.  Ann's 
Terrace,  and  went  home  along  the  High  Street. 
He  went  very  slowly,  as  if  in  thought. 

At  the  railings  of  the  Parish  Church  he  paused,  re- 
caUing  something.  Low  and  square-towered,  couch- 
ant  in  the  moonlight  behind  its  railings,  the  Parish 
Church  guarded  under  its  long  flank  its  huddled 
graves. 

He  smiled  for  very  Youth.  It  was  here  that  he 
had  run  Winny  to  earth  and  caught  her.  The 
Parish  Church  had  been  his  accomplice  in  that 
capture. 

Wandsworth  High  Street  twists  and  winds  with 
the  waywardness  of  a  river.  The  first  turn  brought 
him  to  the  old  stone  bridge  over  the  Wandle.  On  the 
bridge  before  him,  in  the  crook  of  the  street,  were  the 
booths  and  stalls  of  the  night  market,  lit  by  blazing 
naphtha,  color  heaped  on  color  in  a  leaping,  waving 
flare  as  of  torches.  On  either  side  was  a  twisted  and 
jagged  line  of  houses — brown-brick,  flat-fronted, 
eighteenth-century  houses,  and  houses  with  painted 
fronts.  Here  a  tall,  red-brick  modem  Parade  shot 
up  the  gables  of  its  insolent  fagade.  There,  oldest 
of  all,  a  yellow  house  stooped  forward  on  the  posts 
that  propped  it.  Somewhere  up  in  the  sky  a  tall 
chimney  and  a  cupola.  All  beautiful  under  the 
night,  all  dark  or  dim,  with  sudden  flashes  and  pallors 

32 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

and  gleams,  lamplit  and  moonlit;  and  all  impressed 
upon  Ransome's  brain  with  an  extraordinary  vivid- 
ness and  importance,  as  if  he  had  suddenly  discovered 
something  new  about  Wandsworth  High  Street. 

What  he  had  discovered  was  the  blessedness  of 
living  as  he  did  in  Wandsworth  High  Street  within 
three  minutes'  walk  of  St.  Ann's  Terrace. 

To  be  sure,  what  with  the  shop  and  the  storage 
for  drugs,  Ransome's  father's  house,  with  Ransome 
and  his  father  and  his  mother  and  Mercier  and  the 
maid  in  it,  was  somewhat  cramped.  And  neither 
Ransome  nor  his  father  nor  his  mother  knew  how 
beautiful  it  was  with  its  brown-brick  front,  its 
steep-pitched  roof,  and  the  two.  dormer  windows 
looking  down  on  the  High  Street  like  two  sleepy 
eyes  under  drooping  lids.  A  narrow  slip  of  a  house, 
it  stood  a  foot  or  two  back  between  the  wine  mer- 
chant's and  John  Randall  the  draper's  shop,  and  had 
the  air  of  being  squeezed  out  of  existence  by  them. 
Yet  the  name  of  Fulleymore  Ransome,  in  gold  letters 
on  a  black  ground,  and  with  Pharmaceutical  Chemist 
under  it  in  a  scroll,  more  than  held  its  own  beside 
John  Randall.  The  chemist's  dignity  was  further 
proclaimed  by  the  immense  bottles,  three  in  a  row 
(the  Carboys,  Mr.  Ransome  called  them),  holding 
the  magic  liquids,  a  blue,  a  red,  and  a  yellow,  wide- 
bellied  at  the  base,  and  with  pyramids  for  stoppers. 
Under  them,  dividing  the  window  pane,  a  narrow 
gold  band  with  black  lettering  advertised  three 
distinct  mineral  waters. 

A  yellow-ochre  blind  now  screened  the  lower  half 
of  that  window.  Drawn  down  unevenly  and  tilted 
at  the  bottom  comer,  it  suffered  a  vague  gHmpse 
of  objects  that  from  his  earliest  years  had  never 

33 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

ceased  to   offend  Ranny's   sense   of  the  beautiful 
and  fit. 

He  had  not  as  yet  considered  very  deeply  the 
problems  of  his  Hfe.  Otherwise,  in  returning  every 
night  to  his  father's  house,  it  must  have  struck  him 
that  he  was  not  what  you  might  call  a  free  man. 
For  his  father's  house  had  no  door  except  the  shop 
door,  and  it  was  the  peculiarity  of  that  shop  door 
that  it  did  not  admit  of  any  latch  key.  Every  night 
young  Ransome  had  to  ring,  and  it  was  usually 
Mercier,  with  his  abominable  smile,  who  let  him  in. 

To-night  the  door  was  opened  cautiously  on  the 
chain  and  somebody  whispered,  "Is  that  you, 
Ranny?" 

The  chain  was  sHpped,  and  he  entered. 

A  small  bead  of  gas  burned  on  a  bracket  somewhere 
behind  the  counter.  The  Hght  sHd,  pale  as  water, 
over  the  glass  and  mahogany  of  the  show-cases, 
wherein  white  objects  appeared  as  confused  and  dis- 
connected patches.  The  darkness  effaced  every  ob- 
ject in  the  shop  that  was  not  white,  with  the  queer 
effect  that  rows  upon  rows  of  white  jars  showed  as  if 
hanging  on  it  unsupported  by  their  shelves.  Very 
close,  turned  up  to  him  out  of  the  darkness,  was 
Ranny's  mother's  face.     He  kissed  it. 

"Where's  that  Mercier?"  said  Ranny's  mother. 

"What?     Isn't  he  back  yet?" 

"No,"  said  Ranny's  mother.  "And  your  father's 
got  the  Headache." 

By  a  tender  and  most  pardonable  confusion  be- 
tween the  symptoms  and  its  cause  Ranny's  mother 
had  hit  upon  a  phrase  that  made  it  possible  for  them 
to  discuss  his  father's  afffiction  without  the  smallest, 
most  shadowy  reference  to  its  essential  nature.    For 

34 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Ranny's  mother,  such  reference  would  have  been  the 
last  profanity,  a  sacrilege  committed  against  the 
divinities  of  the  hearth  and  of  the  marriage  bed. 
But  for  that  phrase  Mr.  Ransome's  weakness  must 
have  been  passed  in  silence  as  the  unspeakable,  in- 
credible, unthinkable  thing  it  was. 

At  the  phrase,  more  frequent  in  his  mother's 
mouth  than  ever,  Ranny  drew  in  his  Ups  for  a 
whistle;  but  instead  of  whistling  he  said,  "Poor  old 
Humming-bird . ' ' 

"It's  one  of  His  bad  ones,"  said  Ranny's  mother. 

He  raised  the  flap  of  the  counter,  and  they  went 
through.  He  turned  up  the  gas  so  that  the  out- 
lines of  things  asserted  themselves  and  the  labels 
on  the  white  jars  gave  out  their  secret  gold.  On  one 
of  these  labels,  Hydrarg.  Amm.,  which  had  no[mean- 
ing  for  him,  Ranny  fixed  a  fascinated  gaze,  thus 
avoiding  the  revelations  of  his  mother's  face. 

For  Ranny's  mother's  face  showed  that  she  had 
been  crying. 

Plump,  and  yet  not  large,  her  figure  and  her 
face  were  formed  for  gaiety  and  charm.  Her 
Httle  nose  was  up  tilted  Hke  Ranny's;  but  some- 
thing that  was  not  gaiety,  but  pathos,  had  dragged 
down  and  made  tremulous  the  comers  of  a  mouth 
that  had  once  been  tilted  too — a  flowerUke  mouth, 
of  the  same  tender  texture  as  her  face,  a  face  that 
was  once  one  wide  -  open,  innocent  pink  flower. 
Now  it  was  washed  out  and  burnt  with  the  courses 
of  her  tears.  Worry  had  fretted  her  soft  forehead 
into  Hnes  and  twisted  her  eyebrows  in  an  expression 
as  of  permanent  surprise  at  life's  handiwork.  And 
under  them  her  dim-blue  eyes,  red-lidded,  looked 
out  with  the  same  sorrow  and  dismay.     There  was 

35 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

nothing  left  of  her  beauty  but  her  exuberant  light- 
brown  hair,  which  she  dressed  high  on  her  head 
with  a  twist  and  a  topknot  piteously  reminiscent  of 
gaiety  and  charm. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  left-hand 
inner  door. 

"He's  in  the  dispensin'-room,"  she  said. 

Ranny  turned  round.  His  features  tilted  slightly, 
compelled  by  something  preposterous  in  the  vision 
she  had  evoked. 

"Whatever  game  is  he  playin'  there?" 

A  faint  flicker  passed  over  his  mother's  face,  as  if 
it  pleased  her  that  he  could  talk  in  that  way. 

"Prescription,"  she  said,  and  paused  between  her 
words  to  let  it  sink  into  him.  "Makin'  it  up,  he  is. 
Old  Mr.  Beesley's  heart  mixture." 

"My  Hat!"  said  Ranny.  He  was  impressed  by 
the  gravity  of  the  situation. 

There  were  all  sorts  of  things,  such  as  tooth- 
brushes, patent  medicines,  babies'  comforters,  that 
Ranny's  father  with  a  Headache,  or  Ranny  himself 
or  his  mother  could  be  trusted  to  dispense  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice.  But  the  drug  strophanthus,  pre- 
scribed for  old  Mr.  Beesley,  was  not  one  of  them. 
It  was  tricky  stuff.  He  knew  all  about  it;  Mercier 
had  told  him.  Whether  it  was  to  do  Mr.  Beesley 
good  or  not  would  depend  on  the  precise  degree  and 
kind  of  Ranny's  father's  Headache. 

"I've  never  known  your  father's  Headache  so  bad 
as  it  is  to-night,"  said  Ranny's  mother.  "As  for 
makin'  up  prescriptions,  sufferin'  as  He  is.  He's  not 
fit  for  it.     He's  not  fit  for  it,  Ranny." 

That  was  as  near  as  she  could  go. 

"Of  course  he  isn't." 

36 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

(They  had  to  keep  it  up  together.) 

But  Ranny's  mother  felt  that  she  had  gone  too 
far. 

"He  ought  to  be  in  His  bed — " 

"Of  course  he  ought,"  said  Ranny,  tenderly. 

"And  He  would  be  if  it  wasn't  for  that  Mercier." 

Thus  subtly  did  she  intimate  that  it  was  not  his 
father  but  Mercier  whose  behavior  was  reprehen- 
sible. 

"P'r'aps  you'll  go  to  him,  Ranny?" 

"Hadn't  we  better  wait  for  Mercier?" 

(Old  Mr.  Beesley's  mixture  was  a  case  for  Mer- 
cier.) 

"Him?  Goodness  knows  when  he'll  be  in.  And 
it's  not  likely  that  y'r  father  '11  have  him  interferin' 
with  him.  They're  sendin'  at  ten  past  eleven,  and 
it's  five  past  now." 

Thus  and  thus  only  did  she  suggest  the  necessity 
for  immediate  action.  Also  her  fear  lest  Mercier 
should  find  Mr.  Ransome  out.  As  if  Mercier  had 
not  found  him  out  long  ago;  as  if  he  hadn't  warned 
Ranny,  time  and  again,  of  what  might  happen. 

"All  right,  I'll  go." 


He  went  by  the  right-hand  door  at  the  back  of  the 
shop,  and  down  a  short  and  exceedingly  narrow 
passage,  lined  with  shallow  shelves  for  the  storage 
of  drugs. 

Another  door  at  the  end  of  the  passage  led  straight 
into  the  dispensing-room  otitside,  a  long  shed  of 
corrugated  iron  run  up  against  the  garden  wall  and 
lined  with  honey  -  colored  pine.  Under  a  wide 
stretch  of  window  was  a  work  table.     At  one  end  of 

37 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

this  table  was  a  slab  of  white  marble;  at  the  other 
a  porcelain  sink  fitted  with  taps  and  sprays  for  hot 
and  cold  water.  From  the  far  end  of  the  room  where 
the  stove  was  came  a  smothered  roar  of  gas  flames. 
On  the  broken  inner  wall  were  shelves  fitted  with 
drawers  of  all  sizes,  each  with  its  label,  and  above 
them  other  shelves  with  row  after  row  of  jars.  Near 
the  stove,  more  shelves  with  more  and  more  jars, 
with  phials,  kettles,  pannikins,  and  pipkins.  Every- 
where else  shelves  of  medicine  bottles,  innumerable 
medicine  bottles  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  giving  to  the 
honey-colored  walls  a  decorative  glimmer  of  sea- 
blue  and  sea-green. 

All  this  was  brilliantly  illuminated  with  gas  that 
burned  on  every  bracket. 

To  Ransome's  senses  it  was  as  if  the  faint,  the  deli- 
cate colors  of  the  place  gave  a  more  frightful  gross- 
ness  and  pungency  to  its  smell.  Dying  asafetida 
struggled  still  with  gas  fumes,  and  was  pierced  by 
another  odor,  a  sharp  and  bitter  odor  that  he  knew. 

At  the  long  table,  under  the  hanging  gaselier,  in 
shirt  sleeves  and  apron,  Mr.  Ransome  stood.  The 
light  fell  full  on  his  sallow  baldness  and  its  ring  of 
iron-gray  hair;  on  his  sallow,  sickly  face;  on  his 
little  long,  peaked  nose  with  its  peevish  nostrils; 
even  on  his  thin  and  irritable  mouth,  unhidden  by 
the  scanty,  close-trimmed  iron-gray  mustache  and 
beard.     He  was  weedy  to  the  last  degree. 

Ranny  came  near  and  gazed  inscrutably  at  this 
miracle  of  physical  unfitness.  Under  his  gaze  the 
pitiful  and  insignificant  figure  bore  itself  as  with  a 
majesty  of  rectitude. 

Mr.  Ransome  had  before  him  a  prescription,  a 
medicine  bottle,  a  large  bottle  of  distilled  water,  two 

38 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

measuring-glasses,  and  a  smaller  bottle  half  full  of 
a  pale-amber  liquid.  He  had  been  standing  motion- 
less, staring  at  these  objects  with  a  peculiar  and  in- 
tent solemnity.  Now,  as  if  challenged  and  challeng- 
ing, he  drew  the  smaller  measuring-glass  toward 
him  with  one  hand.  He  held  it  to  the  light  and 
moved  his  finger  nail  slowly  along  the  middle 
measuring  line.  Then  with  two  hands  that  trembled 
he  poured  into  it  a  part  of  the  infusion.  The  liquid 
went  tink-tinkling  in  a  succession  of  little  jerks.  He 
held  it  to  the  light ;  it  rose  a  good  inch  above  the  line 
he  had  marked.  He  shook  his  head  at  it  slowly, 
with  an  air  of  admonition  and  reproof,  and  poured 
it  back  into  the  bottle. 

This  process  he  repeated  seven  times,  always  with 
the  same  solemn  intentness,  the  same  reproving  and 
admonitory  air. 

At  his  seventh  failure  he  turned  with  the  dignity 

of  a  man  overmastered  by  outrageous  circumstance. 

"Mercier  not  in?"  he  asked,  sternly.     (You  would 

have  said  it  was  his  son  Randall  that  he  admonished 

and  reproved.) 

"Not  yet,"  said  Ranny.     And  as  he  said  it  he 
possessed  himself  very  gently  of  the  measuring-glass 
and  bottle.     (Mr.  Ransome  affected  not  to  notice 
this  manoeuver.) 
"What  is  it?" 

"Tincture  of  strophanthus,  sodae  bicarb.,  and 
spirits  of  chloroform.  Just  you  mind  how  you 
handle   it." 

"Right-0!"  said  Ranny. 

The  chemist's  small,  iron-gray  eyes  were  fixed  on 
him  with  severity  and  resentment. 
"How  much?"  said  Ranny. 

39 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Up  to  three."  Mr.  Ransome's  head  was  steadier 
than  his  hand. 

Ranny  poured  the  dose. 

"Ac-acqua  distillata — to  eight  ounces,"  said  Mr, 
Ransome,  disjointedly,  but  with  an  extreme  incision, 

Ranny  poured  again,  and  decanted  the  medicine 
into  its  bottle  through  a  funnel,  corked  it,  tied  on  the 
capsule,  labeled,  addressed,  wrapped,  and  sealed  it. 
The  long-drawn,  subtle  corners  of  Ranny's  eyes  and 
mouth  were  lifted  in  that  irrepressible  smile  of  his, 
while  Mr.  Ransome  asserted  his  pharmaceutical 
dignity  by  acrimonious  comment.  ''Now  then! 
You  might  have  club  feet  instead  of  hands.  Tha's 
right — mess  the  sealin'-wax,  waste  the  string,  spoil 
anything  you  haven't  got  to  pay  for.     That  '11  do." 

Mr.  Ransome  took  the  parcel  from  his  son's  hand, 
turned  it  round  and  round  under  the  gaslight,  laid 
it  down,  and  dismissed  it  with  a  flick  as  of  contempt 
for  his  incompetence.  At  that  Ranny  gave  way 
and  giggled. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  and  his  mother  stood  in  the 
doorway  of  the  back  parlor  and  watched  the  master's 
superb  and  solitary  ascent  to  his  bedroom  on  the 
first  floor  back.  It  was  then  that  Ranny,  still  smil- 
ing, delivered  his  innermost  opinion. 

"Queer  old  Humming-bird.     Ain't  he.   Mar?" 

His  mother  shook  her  head  at  him.  * '  Oh,  Ranny, " 
she  said,  "you  shouldn't  speak  so  disrespectful  of 
your  father." 

But  she  kissed  him  for  it,  all  the  same. 


CHAPTER  V 

THAT  was  how  they  kept  it  up  together. 
Not  that  Mrs.  Ransome  was  conscious  of 
keeping  it  up,  of  ministering  to  an  illusion  as  mon- 
strous as  it  was  absurd.  She  had  married  Mr.  Ran- 
some, believing  with  a  final  and  absolute  conviction 
in  his  wisdom  and  his  goodness.  What  she  was 
keeping  up  had  kept  up  for  twenty-two  years,  and 
would  keep  up  forever,  was  the  attitude  of  her  un- 
dying youth.     It  was  its  triumph  over  life  itself. 

In  her  youth  the  draper's  daughter  had  been 
dazzled  by  Mr.  Ransome,  by  his  attainments,  his 
position,  his  distinction.  Fulle3"more  Ransome  had 
about  him  the  small  refinement  of  the  suburban 
shopkeeper,  made  finer  by  the  intellectual  processes 
that  had  turned  him  out  a  Pharmaceutical  Chemist. 

In  her  world  of  Wandsworth  High  Street  his  grave, 
fastidious  figure  had  stood  for  everything  that  was 
superior.  He  was  superior  still.  He  had  never 
offered  his  Headache  as  a  spectacle  to  the  public 
eye.  Bom  in  secrecy  and  solitude,  it  remained  un- 
seen outside  the  sacred  circle  of  his  home.  Even 
there  he  had  contrived  to  create  around  it  an  atmos- 
phere of  mystery.  So  that  it  was  open  to  Mrs.  Ran- 
some to  regard  each  Headache  as  an  accident,  a 
thing  apart,  solitary  and  miraculous  in  its  occurrence. 
Faced  with  the  incredible  fact,  she  found  a  certain 
gratification  in   the  thought   that   Mr.    Ransome's 

41 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

position  enabled  him  to  order  the  best  spirit  whole- 
sale, and  with  a  professional  impunity.  So  invio- 
late was  his  privacy  that  not  even  the  wine  and 
spirit  merchant  next  door  could  gage  the  amount 
of  his  expenditure  in  this  item. 

Thus,  in  Mrs.  Ransome's  eyes,  the  worst  Headache 
he  had  ever  had  could  not  impair  his  innermost 
integrity.  Her  vision  of  him  was  inspired  by  an 
innocence  and  sincerity  that  were  of  the  substance 
of  her  soul.  And  in  this  optimism  she  had  brought 
up  her  son. 

Ranny,  with  his  venturesomeness,  had  carried  it 
a  step  further.  For  Ranny,  not  only  did  Mr.  Ran- 
some's inebriety  conceal  itself  under  the  name  of 
Headache,  but  in  those  hours  when  the  Headache 
cast  its  intolerable  gloom  over  the  household  Ranny 
persisted — from  his  childhood  he  had  persisted — in 
regarding  his  father,  perversely,  as  the  source  and 
fount  of  joy. 

It  was  in  this  happy  light  he  saw  him  on  Sunday 
morning,  when  Mrs.  Ransome  came  into  the  back 
parlor,  where  he  was  hiding  his  paper,  The  Pink  '  Un, 
behind  him  under  the  sofa  cushions.  She  was  wear- 
ing her  new  slaty-gray  gown  with  the  lace  collar, 
and  a  head-dress  that  combined  the  decorum  of  the 
bonnet  with  the  levity  and  fascination  of  the  hat. 
Black  it  was,  with  a  spray  of  damask  roses  and  their 
leaves,  that  spring  upward  from  Mrs.  Ransome's 
left  ear. 

"Your  father's  goin'  to  church,"  she  said. 

Ranny  sat  up  among  his  cushions  and  said:  "Oh, 
Lord!    That  Humming-bird's  a  fair  treat." 

He  took  it  as  a  supreme  instance  of  his  father's 
humor. 

42 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

But  that  was  not  the  way  Mrs.  Ransome  meant 
that  he  should  take  it.  Ranny's  admiration  implied 
that  the  Humming-bird  was  carrying  it  off,  success- 
fully, if  you  like,  but  still  carrying  it.  Whereas 
what  she  desired  him  to  see  was  that  there  was 
nothing  to  be  carried  off.  Obviously  there  could 
not  be,  when  Mr.  Ransome  was  prepared  to  go  to 
church. 

For  the  going  to  church  of  Mr.  Ransome  was  it- 
self a  ritual,  a  high  religious  ceremony.  Hitherto  he 
had  kept  himself  pure  for  it,  abstaining  from  all 
Headache  overnight.  It  was  this  habitual  conse- 
cration of  Mr.  Ransome  that  made  his  last  lapse  so 
remarkable  and  so  important,  while  it  revealed  it  as 
fortuitous.  Ranny  had  missed  the  deep  logic  of 
his  mother's  statement.  Mr.  Ransome  was  sides- 
man at  the  Parish  Church,  and  at  no  time  was  the 
Headache  compatible  with  being  sidesman. 

Nothing  had  ever  interfered  with  the  slow  pageant 
of  Mr.  Ransome's  progress  toward  church.  Outside 
in  the  passage  he  was  lingering  over  his  prepara- 
tions: the  adjustment  of  his  tie,  the  brushing  of 
his  tall  hat,  the  drawing  on  of  the  dogskin  gloves 
he  wore  in  his  office.  It  was  not  easy  for  Mr.  Ran- 
some to  exceed  the  professional  dignity  of  his  frock 
coat  and  gray  trousers,  and  yet  every  Sunday,  by 
some  miracle,  he  did  exceed  it.  Each  minute  irre- 
proachable detail  of  his  dress  accentuated,  reiterated, 
the  suggestion  of  his  perpetual  sobriety. 

Still,  there  remained  the  memory  of  last  night. 
Mrs.  Ransome  did  not  evade  it ;  on  the  contrary,  she 
used  it  to  demonstrate  the  indomitable  power  of 
Mr.  Ransome's  will. 

"7  say  he  ought  to  be  layin'  down,"  she  said. 
4  43 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"But  there — He  won't.  You  know  what  He  is 
since  He's  been  sidesman.  It's  my  belief  He'd  rise 
up  off  his  deathbed  to  hand  that  plate.  It's  his 
duty  to  go,  and  go  He  will  if  He  drops.  That's 
your  father  all  over." 

"That's  Him,"  Ranny  assented. 

His  mother  looked  him  in  the  face.  It  was  the 
look,  familiar  to  Ranny  on  a  Sunday  morning,  that, 
while  it  reinstated  Ranny 's  father  in  his  rectitude, 
contrived  subtly,  insidiously,  to  put  Ranny  in  the 
wrong. 

"You're  going,  too,"  his  mother  said. 

Well,  no,  he  wasn't  exactly  going.  Not,  that  was 
to  say,  to  any  church  in  Wandsworth.  (He  had,  in 
fact,  a  pressing  engagement  to  meet  young  Tyser 
at  the  first  easterly  signpost  on  Putney  Common, 
and  cycle  with  him  to  Richmond.) 

"It's  only  a  spin,"  said  Ranny,  though  the  look 
on  his  mother's  face  was  enough  to  tell  him  that  a 
spin,  on  a  Sunday,  was  dissipation,  and  he,  reckless- 
ly, iniquitously  spinning,  a  prodigal  most  unsuitably 
descended  from  an  upright  father. 

And  then  (this  happened  nearly  every  Sunday) 
Ranny  set  himself  to  charm  away  that  look  from  his 
mother's  face.  First  of  all  he  said  she  was  a  tip- 
topper,  a  howling  swell,  and  asked  her  where  she 
expected  to  go  to  in  that  hat,  nippin'  in  and  cuttin' 
all  the  girls  out,  and  she  a  married  woman  and  a 
mother;  and  whether  it  wouldn't  be  fairer  all  around, 
and  much  more  proper,  if  she  was  to  wear  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  a  veil?  Then  he  buttoned 
up  her  gloves  over  her  little  fat  wrists  and  kissed 
her  in  several  places  where  the  veil  ought  to  have 
been;    and  when  he  had  informed  her  that  "the 

44 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Humming-bird  was  a  regular  toff,"  and  had  dis- 
missed them  both  with  his  blessing,  standing  on  the 
doorstep  of  the  shop,  he  wheeled  his  bicycle  out  into 
the  street,  mounted  it,  and  followed  at  the  pace  of 
a  walking  funeral  until  his  parents  had  disappeared 
into  the  Parish  Church. 

Then  Ranny,  in  his  joy,  set  up  a  prolonged  ringing 
of  his  bicycle  bell,  as  it  were  the  cry  of  his  young 
soul,  a  shrill  song  of  triumph  and  liberation  and  de- 
light.    And  in  his  own  vivid  phrase,  he  "let  her  rip." 

Of  course  he  was  a  prodigal,  a  wastrel,  a  spend- 
thrift. Going  the  pace,  he  was,  with  a  vengeance, 
like  a  razzling-dazzling,  devil-may-care  young  dog. 

A  prodigal  driven  by  the  lust  of  speed,  dissipating 
his  divine  energies  in  this  fierce  whirling  of  the 
wheels;  scattering  his  youth  to  the  sun  and  his 
strength  to  the  wind  in  the  fury  of  riotous  "bik- 
ing." A  drunkard,  mad-drunk,  blind-drunk  with  the 
draught  of  his  onrush. 

That  was  Ranny  on  a  Sunday  morning. 


He  returned,  at  one  o'clock,  to  a  dinner  of  roast 
mutton  and  apple  tart.  Conversation  was  sus- 
tained, for  Mercier's  benefit,  at  the  extreme  pitch 
of  politeness  and  precision.  It  seemed  to  Ranny 
that  at  Sunday  dinner  his  father  reached,  socially, 
a  very  high  level.  It  seemed  so  to  Mrs.  Ransome 
as  she  bloomed  and  flushed  in  a  brief  return  of  her 
beauty  above  the  mutton  and  the  tart.  She  bloomed 
and  flushed  every  time  that  Mr.  Ransome  did  any- 
thing that  proved  his  goodness  and  his  wisdom. 
Sunday  was  the  day  in  which  she  most  believed  in 
him,  the  day  set  apart  for  her  worship  of  him. 

45 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

By  what  blindfolded  pieties,  what  subterfuges, 
what  evasions  she  had  achieved  her  own  private 
superstition  was  unknown,  even  to  herself.  It  was 
by  courage  and  the  magic  of  personality — some  evo- 
cation of  her  lost  gaiety  and  charm — but  above  all 
by  courage  that  she  had  contrived  to  impose  it 
upon  other  people. 

The  cult  of  Mr.  Ransome  reached  its  height  at 
four  o'clock  on  this  Sunday  afternoon,  when  Ranny's 
Uncle  John  Randall  (Junior)  and  Aunt  Randall 
dropped  in  to  tea.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randall  be- 
lieved in  Mr.  Ransome  with  the  fervent,  immovable 
faith  of  innocence  that  has  once  for  all  taken  an 
idea  into  its  head.  Long  ago  they  had  taken  it 
into  their  heads  that  Mr.  Ransome  was  a  wise  and 
good  man.  They  had  taken  it  on  hearsay,  on  con- 
jecture, on  perpetual  suggestion  conveyed  by  Mrs. 
Ransome,  and  on  the  groimds — absolutely  incon- 
trovertible— that  they  had  never  heard  a  word  to 
the  contrary.  Never,  until  the  other  day,  when 
that  young  Mercier  came  to  Wandsworth.  And,  as 
Mrs.  Randall  said,  everybody  knew  what  he  was. 
Whatever  it  was  that  Mr.  Randall  had  heard  from 
young  Mercier  and  told  to  Mrs.  Randall,  the  two 
had  agreed  to  hold  their  tongues  about  it,  for  Emmy's 
sake,  and  not  to  pass  it  on.  Wild  horses,  Mrs. 
Randall  said,  wouldn't  drag  it  out  of  her. 

Not  that  they  believed  or  could  believe  such  a 
thing  of  Mr.  Ransome,  who  had  been  known  in 
Wandsworth  for  five-and-twenty  years  before  that 
young  Mercier  was  so  much  as  born.  And  by  hold- 
ing their  tongues  about  it  and  not  passing  it  on  they 
had  succeeded  in  dismissing  from  their  minds,  for 
long  intervals  at  a  time,  the  story  they  had  heard 

46 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

about  Mr.  Ransome.  "For,  mind  you,"  said  Mr. 
Randall,  "if  it  got  about  it  would  ruin  him.  Ruin 
him  it  would.     As  much  as  if  it  was  true." 

Long  afterward  when  she  thought  of  that  Sunday, 
and  how  beautifully  they'd  spoken  of  Mr.  Ransome; 
that  Sunday  when  they  had  had  tea  upstairs  in  the 
best  parlor  on  the  front ;  that  Sunday  that  had  been 
half  pleasure  and  half  pain ;  that  strange  and  ominous 
Sunday  when  poor  Ranny  had  broken  out  and  been 
so  wild;  long  afterward,  when  she  thought  of  it, 
Mrs.  Ransome  found  that  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

She  had  no  idea  then  that  they  had  heard  any- 
thing. Family  affection  was  what  you  looked  for 
from  the  Randalls,  and  on  Sundays  they  showed  it 
by  a  frequent  dropping  in  to  tea. 

John  Randall,  the  draper,  was  a  fine  man.  A 
tall,  erect,  full-fronted  man,  a  superb  figure  in  a 
frock  coat.  A  man  with  a  florid,  handsome  face, 
clean-shaved  for  the  greater  salience  of  his  big 
mustache  (dark,  grizzled  like  his  hair).  A  man 
with  handsome  eyes — prominent,  slightly  bloodshot, 
generous  eyes.  He  might  have  passed  for  a  soldier 
but  for  something  that  detracted,  something  that 
Ranny  noticed.  But  even  Ranny  hesitated  to  call 
it  flabbiness  in  so  fine  a  man. 

Mr.  Randall  had  married  a  woman  who  had  been 
even  finer  than  himself.  And  she  was  still  fine, 
with  her  black  hair  dressed  in  a  prominent  pompa- 
dour, and  her  figure  curbed  by  the  tightness  of  her 
Sunday  gown.  Under  her  polished  hair  Mrs.  Ran- 
dall's face  shone  with  a  blond  pallor.  It  had  grown 
up  gradually  round  her  features,  and  they,  becoming 
more  and  more  insignificant,  were  now  merged  in 
its  general  expression  of  good  will.     Ranny  noted 

47 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

with  wonder  this  increasing  simplification  of  his 
Aunt  Randall's  face. 

She  entered  as  if  under  stress,  towing  her  large 
husband  through  the  doorway,  and  in  and  out  among 
the  furniture. 

The  room  that  received  them  was  full  of  furniture, 
walnut  wood,  mid- Victorian  in  design,  upholstered 
in  rep,  which  had  faded  from  crimson  to  an  agreeable 
old  rose.  Rep  curtains  over  Nottingham  lace  hung 
from  the  two  windows.  There  was  a  davenport  be- 
tween them,  and,  opposite,  a  cabinet  with  a  looking- 
glass  back  in  three  arches.  It  was  Mr.  Ransome's 
social  distinction  that  he  had  inherited  this  walnut- 
wood  fumitiu-e.  Modernity  was  represented  by  a 
brand-new  overmantle  in  stained  wood  and  beveled 
glass,  with  little  shelves  displaying  Japanese  vases. 
The  wall  paper  turned  this  front  parlor  into  a 
bower  of  gilt  roses  (slightly  tarnished  on  a  grayish 
ground) . 

And  as  Mrs.  Ransome  sat  at  the  head  of  the  oval 
table  in  the  center  you  would  never  have  known 
that  she  was  the  woman  with  red  eyes,  the  furtive, 
whispering  woman  who  had  opened  the  door  to  her 
son  Randall  last  night.  She  sat  in  a  most  correct 
and  upright  attitude,  she  looked  at  John  Randall  and 
his  wife,  and  smiled  and  flushed  with  gladness  and 
with  pride.  It  took  so  little  to  make  her  glad  and 
proud.  She  was  glad  that  Bessie  was  wearing  the 
black  and  white  which  was  so  becoming  to  her. 
She  was  glad  that  there  was  honey  as  well  as  jam 
for  tea,  and  that  she  had  not  cut  the  cake  before 
they  came.  She  was  proud  of  her  teapot,  and  of 
the  appearance  of  her  room.  She  was  proud  of  Mr. 
Ransome's  appearance  at  the  table  (where  he  sat 

48 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

austerely),  and  of  her  brother,  John  Randall,  who 
looked  so  like  a  military  man. 

And  John  Randall  talked ;  he  talked ;  it  was  what 
he  had  come  for.  He  had  a  right  to  talk.  He  was 
a  member  of  the  Borough  Council,  an  important 
man,  a  man  (it  was  said  of  him)  with  "ideas."  He 
was  a  Liberal;  and  so,  for  that  matter,  was  Mr. 
Ransome.  Both  were  of  the  good,  safe  middle 
class,  and  took  the  good,  safe,  middle  line. 

They  sat  there;  the  Nottingham  lace  curtains 
veiled  them  from  the  gazes  of  the  street,  but  their 
voices,  raised  in  discussion,  could  be  most  distinctly 
heard;  for  the  window  was  a  little  open,  letting  in 
the  golden  afternoon.  They  sat  and  drank  tea  and 
abused  the  Tory  Government.  Not  any  one  Tory 
Government,  but  all  Tory  Governments.  Mr.  Ran- 
some said  that  all  Tory  Governments  were  bad. 
Mr.  Randall,  aiming  at  precision,  said  he  wouldn't 
say  they  were  bad  so  much  as  stupid,  cowardly,  and 
dishonest.  Stupid,  because  they  were  incapable  of 
the  ideas  the  Liberals  had.  Cowardly,  because  they 
let  the  Liberals  do  all  the  fighting  for  ideas.  Dis- 
honest, because  they  stole  the  ideas,  purloined  'em, 
carried  them  out,  and  sneaked  the  credit. 

And  when  Ranny  asked  if  it  mattered  who  got  the 
credit  provided  they  were  carried  out,  Mr.  Randall 
replied  solemnly  that  it  did  matter,  my  boy.  It 
mattered  a  great  deal.  Credit  was  everything,  the 
nation's  confidence  was  everything.  A  Government 
lived  on  credit  and  on  nothing  else.  And  his  father 
told  him  that  he  hadn't  understood  what  his  uncle 
had  been  saying. 

"If  anybody  asks  me — "  said  Mr.  Ransome.  He 
interrupted  himself  to  stare  terribly  at  Mrs.  Ran- 

49 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

some,  who  was  sending  a  signal  to  her  son  and  a 
whisper,  "Have  a  little  slice  of  gingercake,  Ran 
dear." 

"If  anybody  asks  me  my  objection  to  a  Tory 
Government,  I'll  put  it  for  'em,"  said  Mr.  Ransome, 
"in  a  nutshell." 

"Let's  have  it,  Fulleymore,"  said  Mr.  Randall. 

And  Mr.  Ransome  let  him  have  it — in  a  nutshell. 

"With  a  Tory  Government  you  always,  sooner  or 
later,  have  a  war.  And  who,"  said  Mr.  Ransome, 
"wants  war?" 

Mr.  Randall  bowed  and  made  a  motion  of  his  hand 
toward  his  brother-in-law,  a  complicated  gesture 
which  implied  destruction  of  all  Tory  Governments, 
homage  to  Mr.  Ransome,  and  dismissal  of  the  sub- 
ject as  definitively  settled  by  him. 

Mrs.  Ransome  seized  the  moment  to  raise  her 
eyebrows  and  the  teapot  toward  Mrs.  Randall,  and 
to  whisper  again,  surreptitiously,  "Jest  another  little 
drain  of  tea?" 

Then  Ranny,  who  had  tilted  his  chair  most  danger- 
ously backward,  was  heard  saying  something.  A 
bit  of  scrap,  now  and  then,  with  other  nations  was, 
in  Ranny's  opinion,  a  jolly  good  thing.  Kept  you 
from  gettin'  Flabby.     Kept  you  Fit. 

Mr.  Randall,  in  a  large,  forbearing  manner,  dealt 
with  Ranny.  He  wanted  to  know  whether  he, 
Ranny,  thought  that  the  world  was  one  almighty 
Poly.  Gym.? 

And  Mr.  Ransome  answered:  "That's  precisely 
what  he  does  think.  Made  for  his  amusement,  the 
world  is." 

Ranny  was  young,  and  so  they  all  treated  him  as 
if  he  were  neither  good  nor  wise. 

50 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  Ranny,  desperately  tilted  backward,  looked 
at  them  all  with  a  smile  that  almost  confirmed  his 
father's  view  of  his  philosophy.  He  was  working 
up  for  his  great  outbreak.  He  could  feel  the  laugh- 
ter struggling  in  his  throat. 

"I  don't  say,"  said  Mr.  Ransome,  ignoring  his 
son's  folly,  "that  I'm  complaining  of  this  Boer  War 
in  especial.  If  anything" — he  weighed  it,  deter- 
mined, in  his  rectitude,  to  be  just  even  to  the  war — 
"if  anything  we  sold  more  of  some  things." 

"Now  what,"  said  Mrs.  Randall,  "do  you  sell 
most  of  in  time  of  war?" 

"Sleepin'  draughts,  heart  mixture,  nerve  tonic, 
stomach  mixtiu-e,  and  so  forth." 

"And  he  can  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Randall,  "to  a 
month's  bookin'  what  meddycine  he'll  sell." 

"What's  more,"  said  the  chemist,  with  a  sinister 
intonation,  "I  can  tell  who'll  want  'em." 

"Can  you  reelly  now?"  said  Mrs.  Randall.  "Why, 
FuUeymore,  you  should  have  been  a  doctor. 
Shouldn't  he,  Emmy?" 

Mrs.  Ransome  laughed  softly  in  her  pride.  "He 
couldn't  be  much  more  than  He  is.  Why,  He  doc- 
tors half  the  poor  people  in  Wandsworth.  They  all 
come  to  Him,  whether  it's  toothache  or  bronchitis 
or  the  influenza,  or  a  housemaid  with,  a  whitlow  on 
her  finger,  and  He  prescribes  for  all.  If  all  the 
doctors  in  Wandsworth  died  to-morrow  some  of  us 
would  be  no  worse  off." 

"Many's  the  doctor's  bill  he's  saved  me,"  said 
Mr.  Randall. 

"Yes,  but  it's  a  tryin'  life  for  Him,  sufferin'  as  He 
is  in  'is  own  'ealth.  Never  knowin'  when  the  night 
bell  won't  ring,  and  He  have  to  get  up  out  of  his 

51 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

warm  bed.      He  doesn't  spare  Himself,  I  can  tell 
you." 

And  on  they  went  for  another  quarter  of  an  hour, 
boldly  asserting,  delicately  hinting,  subtly  suggesting 
that  Mr.  Ransome  was  a  good  man;  as  if,  Ranny 
reflected,  anybody  had  ever  said  he  wasn't.  Mr. 
Ransome  withdrew  himself  to  his  armchair  by  the 
fireplace,  and  the  hymn  of  praise  went  on;  it  flowed 
round  him  where  he  sat  morose  and  remote;  and 
Ranny,  in  the  window  seat,  was  silent,  listening  with 
an  inscrutable  intentness  to  the  three  voices  that 
ran  on.  He  marveled  at  the  way  they  kept  it  up. 
When  his  mother's  light  soprano  broke,  breathless 
for  a  moment,  on  a  top  note,  Mrs.  Randall's  rich, 
guttural  contralto  came  to  its  support,  Mr.  Randall 
supplying  a  running  accompaniment  of  bass.  And 
now  they  burst,  all  three  of  them,  into  anecdote  and 
reminiscence,  illustrating  what  they  were  all  agreed 
about,  that  Mr.  Ransome  was  a  good  man. 

Nobody  asked  Ranny  to  join  in;  nobody  knew, 
nobody  cared  what  he  was  thinking,  least  of  all  Mr. 
Ransome. 

He  was  thinking  that  he  had  asked  Fred  Booty 
in  to  tea,  and  that  he  had  forgotten  to  say  anything 
about  it  to  his  mother,  and  that  Fred  was  late,  and 
that  his  father  wouldn't  like  it. 


He  didn't.  He  didn't  like  it  at  all.  He  didn't 
like  Fred  Booty  to  begin  with,  and  when  the  im- 
pudent young  monkey  arrived  after  the  others  had 
gone,  and  had  to  have  fresh  tea  made  for  him,  thus 
accentuating  and  prolonging  the  unpleasantly,  the 
intolerably  festive  hour,  Mr.  Ransome  felt  that  he 

52 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

had  been  tried  to  the  utmost,  and  that  courtesy  and 
forbearance  had  gone  far  enough  for  one  Sunday. 
So  he  refused  to  speak  when  he  was  spoken  to.  He 
turned  his  back  on  his  family  and  on  Booty.  He 
impressed  them  with  his  absolute  and  perfect  dis- 
approval. 

For,  as  the  Headache  worked  in  Mr.  Ransome,  all 
young  and  gay  and  innocent  things  became  abomin- 
able to  him.  Especially  young  things  with  spirits 
and  appetites  like  his  son  Randall  and  Fred  Booty. 
This  afternoon  they  inspired  him  with  a  peculiar 
loathing  and  disgust.  So  did  the  malignant  cheer- 
fulness maintained  by  his  wife.  Escape  no  doubt 
was  open  to  him.  He  might  have  left  the  room  and 
sat  by  himself  in  the  back  parlor.  But  he  spared 
them  this  humiliation.  Outraged  as  he  was,  he 
would  not  go  to  the  extreme  length  of  forsaking 
them.  He  was  a  good  man;  and,  as  a  good  man, 
he  would  not  be  separated  from  his  family,  though 
he  loathed  it.  So  he  hung  about  the  room  where 
they  were;  he  brooded  over  it;  he  filled  it  with  the 
spirit  of  the  Headache.  Young  Booty  became  so 
infected,  so  poisoned  with  this  presence  that  his 
nervous  system  suffered,  and  he  all  but  choked  over 
his  tea.  Young  Booty,  with  his  humor  and  his  wit, 
the  joy  of  Poly.  Ramblers,  sat  in  silence,  miserably 
blushing,  crumbling  with  agitated  fingers  the  cake 
he  dared  not  eat,  and  all  the  time  trying  not  to  look 
at  Ranny. 

For  if  he  looked  at  Ranny  he  would  be  done  for; 
he  would  not  be  able  to  contain  himself,  beholding 
how  Ranny  stuck  it,  and  what  he  made  of  it,  that 
intolerable,  that  incredible  Sunday  afternoon;  how 
he  saw  it  through;  how  he  got  back  on  it  and  found 

S3 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

in  it  his  own.  For,  as  Mr.  Ransome  went  from  gloom 
to  gloom,  Ranny's  spirit  soared,  indomitable,  and 
his  merriment  rose  in  him,  wave  on  wave. 

What  he  could  make  of  it  Booty  saw  in  an  instant 
when  Mr.  Ransome  left  the  room  at  the  summons 
of  the  shop -bell.  Ranny,  with  a  smile  of  positive 
affection,  watched  him  as  he  went. 

"Queer  old  percher,  ain't  he?"  Ranny  said. 

Then  he  let  himself  go,  addressing  himself  to 
Booty. 

"The  old  Porcupine  may  seem  to  you  a  trifle 
melancholy  and  morose.  You  can't  see  what's  goin' 
on  in  his  mind.  You've  no  ideer  of  the  glee  he  bottles 
up  inside  himself.  Fair  bubblin'  and  sparklin'  in 
him,  it  is.  Some  day  he'll  bust  out  with  it.  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if,  at  any  moment  now,  he 
was  to  break  out  into  song." 

Booty,  very  hot  and  uncomfortable  under  Mrs. 
Ransome's  eyes,  affected  to  reprove  him.  "You 
dry  up,  you  young  rotter.  Jolly  lot  of  bottlin'  up 
there  is  about  you." 

But  there  was  that  in  Ranny  which  seemed  as  if 
it  would  never  dry  up.  He  hopped  a  chair  seven 
times  running,  out  of  pure  light-heartedness.  The 
sound  of  the  hopping  brought  Mr.  Ransome  in  a  fury 
from  the  shop  below.  He  stood  in  the  doorway, 
absurd  as  to  his  stature,  but  tremendous  in  the  ex- 
pression of  the  gloom  that  was  his  soul. 

"What's  goin'  on  here?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice  that 
would  have  thundered  if  it  could. 

"It's  me,"  said  Ranny.     "Practisin'." 

"I  won't  'ave  it  then.  I'll  'ave  none  of  this  leap- 
in'  and  jumpin'  over  the  shop  on  a  Sunday  after- 
noon.    Pandemonium   it   is.     'Aven't   you   got   all 

54 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

the  week  for  your  silly  monkey  tricks  ?  I  won't  'ave 
this  room  used,  Mother,  if  he  can't  behave  himself 
in  it  of  a  Sunday." 

And  he  slammed  the  door  on  himself, 

"On  Sunday  evenin',"  said  his  son,  imperturb- 
ably,  as  if  there  had  been  no  interruption,  "eight- 
thirty  to  eleven,  at  his  residence.  High  Street,  Wands- 
worth, Mr.  Fulleymore  Ransome  will  give  an  Enter- 
tainment. Humorous  Impersonations:  Mr.  F.  Ran- 
some. Step  Dancin':  Mr.  F.  Ransome.  Ladies 
are  requested  to  remove  their  hats.  Song:  Put  Me 
Among  the  Girls,  Mr.  F.  Ransome — " 

"For  shame,  Ranny,"  said  his  mother,  behind  her 
pocket  handkerchief. 

" — There  will  be  a  short  interval  for  refreshment, 
when  festivities  will  conclude  with  a  performance 
on  the  French  Horn:   Mr.  F.  Ransome." 

His  mother  laughed  as  she  always  did  (relieved 
that  he  could  take  it  that  way) ;  but  this  time, 
through  all  her  laughter,  he  could  see  that  there  was 
something   wrong. 

And  in  the  evening,  when  he  had  returned  from 
seeing  Booty  home,  she  told  him  what  it  was.  They 
were  alone  together  in  the  front  parlor. 

"Ranny,"  she  said,  suddenly;  "if  I  were  you  I 
wouldn't  bring  strangers  in  for  a  bit  while  your 
father's  sufferin'  as  he  is." 

"Oh,  I  say.  Mother—" 

Ranny  was  disconcerted,  for  he  had  been  going  to 
ask  her  if  he  might  bring  Winny  Dymond  in  some 
day. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "it  isn't  as  if  He  was  one  that 
could  get  away  by  Himself,  like.  He's  always  in 
and  out." 

55 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Yes.  The  old  Hedgehog  scuttles  about  pretty 
ubiquitous,  don't  he?" 

That  was  all  he  said. 

But  though  he  took  it  like  that,  he  knew  his 
mother's  heart;  he  knew  what  it  had  cost  her  to 
give  him  that  pitiful  hint.  He  was  balancing  him- 
self on  the  arm  of  her  chair  now,  and  hanging  over 
her  like  a  lover. 

He  had  always  been  more  like  a  lover  to  her  than 
a  son.  Mr.  Ransome's  transports  (if  he  could  be 
said  to  have  transports)  of  affection  were  violent, 
with  long  intermissions  and  most  brief.  Ranny  had 
ways,  soft  words,  cajoleries,  caresses  that  charmed 
her  in  her  secret  desolation.  Balancing  himself  on 
the  arm  of  her  chair,  he  had  his  face  hidden  in  the 
nape  of  her  neck,  where  he  affected  ecstasy  and  the 
sniffing  in  of  fragrance,  as  if  his  mother  were  a 
flower. 

"What  do  you  dof"  said  Ranny.  "Do  you  bury 
yourself  in  violets  all  night,  or  what?" 

"Violets  indeed!     Get  along  with  you!" 

"Violets  aren't  in  it  with  your  neck,  Mother — 
nor  roses  neither.  What  did  God  Almighty  think 
he  was  making  when  he  made  you?" 

"Don't  you  dare  to  speak  so,"  said  his  mother, 
smiling  secretly. 

"  Lord  bless  you!  He  don't  mind,"  said  Ranny. 
"He's  not  like  Par." 

And  he  plunged  into  her  neck  again  and  burrowed 
there. 

"Ranny,  if  you  knew  how  you  worried  me,  you 
wouldn't  do  it.  You  reelly  woiildn't.  I  don't 
know  what  '11  come  to  you,  goin'  on  so  reckless." 

"It's   because   I   love    you,"    said    Ranny,   half 

56 


THE    COMBINED     MAZE 

stifled  with  his  burrowing.  * '  You  fair  drive  me  mad. 
I  could  eat  you,  Mother,  and  thrive  on  it." 

"Get  along  with  you!  There!  You're  spoiling 
all  my  Sunday  lace." 

Ranny  emerged,  and  his  mother  looked  at  him. 

"Such  a  sight  as  you  are.  If  you  could  see  your- 
self," she  said. 

She  raised  her  hand  and  stroked,  not  without 
tenderness,  his  rumpled  hair. 

"P'r'aps —  If  you  had  a  sweetheart.  Ran,  you'd 
leave  off  makin'  a  fool  of  your  old  mother." 

"I  wouldn't  leave  off  kissin'  her,"  said  he. 

And  then,  suddenly,  it  struck  him  that  he  had 
never  kissed  Winny.  He  hadn't  even  thought  of  it. 
He  saw  her  fugitive,  swift- darting,  rebellious  rath- 
er than  reluctant  tinder  his  embrace;  and  at  the 
thought  he  blushed,  suddenly,  all  over. 

His  mother  was  unaware  that  his  kisses  had  be- 
come dreamy,  tentative,  foreboding.  She  said  to 
herself:  "When  his  time  comes  there  '11  be  no  hold- 
ing him.  But  he  isn't  one  that  '11  be  in  a  hurry, 
Ranny  isn't." 

She  took  comfort  from  that  thought. 


CHAPTER  VI 

RANNY  had  received  his  first  intimation  that  he 
was  not  a  free  man.  And  it  had  come  upon 
him  with  something  of  a  shock.  He  had  made  his 
burst  for  freedom  five  years  ago,  when  he  refused 
to  be  a  Pharmaceutical  Chemist  in  his  father's  shop, 
because  he  could  not  stand  his  father's  ubiquity. 
And  yet  he  was  not  free  to  leave  his  father's  house; 
for  he  did  not  see  how,  as  things  were  going,  he  could 
leave  his  mother.  He  was  not  free  to  ask  his  friends 
there  either;  not,  that  was  to  say,  friends  who  were 
strangers  to  his  father  and  the  Headache.  Above 
all,  he  was  not  free  to  ask  Winny  Dymond.  He  had 
thought  he  was,  but  his  mother  had  made  him  see 
that  he  wasn't,  because  of  his  father's  Headache; 
that  he  really  ought  not  to  expose  the  poor  old 
Humming-bird  to  the  rude  criticism  of  people  who 
did  not  know  how  good  he  was.  That  was  what  his 
mother,  bless  her!  had  been  trying  to  make  him 
see.  And  if  it  came  to  exposing,  if  this  was  to  be  a 
fair  sample  of  their  Simdays,  if  the  Humming-bird 
was  going  to  take  the  cake  for  queemess,  what  right 
had  he  to  expose  little  Winny? 

And  would  she  stand  it  if  he  did?  She  might  come 
once,  perhaps,  but  not  again.  The  Humming-bird 
would  be  a  bit  too  much  for  her. 

Then  how  on  earth,  Ranny  asked  himself,  was  he 
going  to  get  any  further  with  a  girl  like  Winny? 

58 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

His  acquaintance  with  her  was  bound  to  be  a  furtive 
and  a  secret  thing.  He  loathed  anything  furtive, 
and  he  hated  secrecy.  And  Winny  would  loathe  and 
hate  them,  too.  And  she  might  turn  on  him  and 
ask  him  why  she  was  to  be  made  love  to  in  the 
streets  when  his  mother  had  a  house  and  he  lived 
in  it? 

It  was  the  first  time  that  this  idea  of  making  love 
had  come  to  him.  Of  course  he  had  always  sup- 
posed that  he  would  marry  some  day;  but  as  for 
making  love,  it  was  his  mother  who  had  put  into 
his  head  that  exquisitely  agitating  idea. 

To  make  love  to  little  Winny  and  to  marry  her, 
if  (and  that  was  not  by  any  means  so  certain)  she 
would  have  him — no  idea  could  well  have  agitated 
Ranny  more.  It  blunted  the  fine  razorlike  edge  of 
his  appetite  for  Sunday  supper.  It  obscured  his 
interest  in  The  Pink  'Un,  which  he  had  unearthed 
from  imder  the  sofa  cushion  in  the  back  parlor, 
whither  he  had  withdrawn  himself  to  think  of  it. 
And  thinking  of  it  took  away  the  best  part  of  his 
Sunday  night's  sleep. 

For,  after  all,  it  was  impossible;  and  the  more 
you  thought  of  it  the  more  impossible  it  was.  He 
couldn't  marry.  He  simply  couldn't  afford  it  on  a 
salary  of  eight  pounds  a  month,  which  was  a  little 
under  a  hundred  a  year.  He  couldn't  even  afford 
it  on  his  rise.  Fellows  did.  But  he  considered  it 
was  a  beastly  shame  of  them;  yes,  a  beastly  shame 
it  was  to  go  and  tie  a  girl  to  you  when  you  couldn't 
keep  her  properly,  to  say  nothing  of  letting  her  in 
for  having  kids  you  couldn't  keep  at  all.  Ranny 
had  very  fixed  and  firm  opinions  about  marrying; 
for  he  had  seen  fellows  doing  it,  rushing  bald-headed 
5  59 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

into  tills  tremendous  business,  for  no  reason  but  that 
they  had  got  so  gone  on  some  girl  they  couldn't  stick 
it  without  her.  Ranny,  in  his  decency,  considered 
that  that  wasn't  a  reason;  that  they  ought  to  stick 
it;  that  they  ought  to  think  of  the  girl,  and  that  of 
all  the  beastly  things  you  could  do  to  her,  this  was 
the  beastliest,  because  it  tied  her. 

He  had  more  than  ever  decided  that  it  was  so,  as  he 
lay  in  his  attic  sleepless  on  his  narrow  iron  bed- 
stead, staring  up  at  the  steep  slope  of  the  white- 
washed ceiling  that  leaned  over  him,  pressed  on  him, 
and  threatened  him ;  watching  it  glimmer  and  darken 
and  glimmer  again  to  the  dawn.  He  had  put  away 
from  him  the  almost  tangible  vision  of  Winny  lying 
there,  pretty  as  she  would  be,  in  her  little  white 
nightgown,  and  her  hair  tossed  over  his  pillow,  per- 
haps, and  he  vowed  that  for  Winny's  sake  he  would 
never  do  that  thing. 

As  for  the  feeling  he  had  unmistakably  begun  to 
have  for  Winny,  he  would  have  to  put  that  away, 
too,  until  he  could  afford  to  produce  it. 

It  might  also  be  wiser,  for  his  own  sake,  to  give 
up  seeing  her  until  he  could  afford  it;  but  to  this 
pitch  of  abnegation  Ranny,  for  all  his  decency, 
couldn't  rise. 

Besides,  he  had  to  see  her.  He  had  to  see  her 
home. 


And  so  he  took  his  feeling  and  put  it  away,  to- 
gether with  a  certain  sachet,  scented  with  violets, 
and  having  a  pattern  of  violets  on  a  white-satin 
ground,  and  the  word  Violet  going  slantwise  across 
it   in   embroidery.     He   had   bought   it    (from   his 

60 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

mother)  in  the  shop,  to  keep  (he  said)  in  his  drawer 
among  his  handkerchiefs.  And  in  his  drawer, 
among  his  handkerchiefs,  he  kept  it,  wrapped  ten- 
derly in  tissue  paper.  He  tried  hard  to  forget  that 
he  had  really  bought  it  to  give  to  Winny  on  her 
birthday.  He  tried  hard  to  forget  his  feeling, 
wrapped  up  and  put  away  with  it.  But  he  couldn't 
forget  it;  because  every  day  his  handkerchiefs,  im- 
pregnated with  the  scent  of  violets,  gave  out  a  whiff 
that  reminded  him,  and  his  feeling  was  inextricably 
entangled  with  that  whiff. 

It  was  with  him  as  he  worked  in  his  mahogany 
pen  at  Woolridge's.  All  day  a  faint  odor  of  violets 
clung  to  him  and  spread  itself  subtly  about  the 
counting-house,  and  the  fellows  noticed  it  and  sniffed. 
And,  oh,  how  they  chaffed  him.  "Um-m-m.  You 
been  rolling  in  a  bed  of  violets,  Ranny?"  And 
"Oo-ooh,  what  price  violets?"  And  "You  might 
tell  us  her  name,  old  chappie,  if  you  won't  give  the 
address."     Till  his  Hfe  was  a  burden  to  him. 

So  to  end  the  nuisance  he  took  that  sachet  wrapped 
in  tissue  paper,  and  put  it  in  the  round,  japanned 
tin  box  where  he  kept  his  collars,  and  let  his  collars 
run  loose  about  the  drawer.  He  shut  the  Hd  down 
tight  on  the  smell  and  took  the  box  and  hid  it  in 
the  cupboard  where  his  boots  were,  where  the  smell 
couldn't  possibly  get  out,  and  where  the  very  next 
day  his  mother  found  it  and  received  some  enlighten- 
ment as  to  Ranny 's  state  of  mind.  But,  like  a  wise 
woman,  she  kept  it  to  herself. 

And  the  smell  departed  gradually  from  the  region 
of  Ranny 's  breast  pocket,  and  he  had  peace  in  his 
pen.  His  fellow-clerks  suspected  him  of  a  casual  en- 
counter and  no  more.   A  matter  too  trivial  for  remark. 

6i 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

The  counting-house  at  Woolridge's  was  an  im- 
mense long  room  under  the  roof,  Ht  by  a  row  of  win- 
dows on  each  side  and  a  skylight  in  the  middle. 
The  door  gave  on  a  passage  that  ran  the  whole 
length  of  the  room,  dividing  it  in  two.  Right  and 
left  the  space  was  partitioned  off  into  pens  more  or 
less  open.  On  Ransome's  right,  as  he  entered,  was 
the  pen  for  the  women  typists.  On  his  left  the  petty 
cashier's  pen,  overlooking  the  women.  Next  came 
the  ledger  clerks,  then  the  statement  clerks;  and 
facing  these  the  long  desk  of  the  checking  staff.  At 
the  back  of  the  room,  right  and  left,  were  the  pens 
of  the  very  youngest  clerks,  who  made  invoices. 
From  their  high  desks  they  could  see  the  bald  spot 
on  the  assistant  secretary's  head.  He,  the  highest 
power  in  that  hierarchy,  had  a  special  pen  provided 
for  him  behind  the  ledger  and  the  statement  clerks; 
a  little  innermost  sanctuary  approached  by  a  short 
passage.  Surrounded  entirely  by  glass,  he  could 
overlook  the  whole  of  his  dominion,  from  the  boys 
at  the  bottom  to  the  gray-headed  cashier  and  the 
women  typists  at  the  top. 

And  in  between,  scattered  and  in  rows,  the  tops 
of  men's  heads:  heads  dark  and  fair  and  grizzled, 
all  bowed  over  the  long  desks,  all  diminished  and 
obscured  in  their  effect  by  the  heavy  mahogany  of 
their  pens,  by  the  shining  brass  trellis-work  that 
screened  them,  by  the  emerald  green  of  the  hanging 
lampshades,  by  the  blond  lights  and  clear  shadows 
of  the  walls,  and  by  the  everlasting  streaming,  drift- 
ing, and  shifting  of  the  white  paper  that  they  handled. 

The  whole  place  was  full  of  sounds:  the  hard 
clicking  of  the  typewriters,  and  under  it  the  eternal 
rustling  of  the  white  papers,  the  scratching  of  pens, 

62 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

the  thud  of  ledgers  on  desks,  the  hiss  of  their  turning 
leaves,  and  the  sharp  smacking  and  slamming  as 
they  closed. 

And,  in  the  middle  of  that  stir  and  motion  made 
by  hands,  all  those  tops  of  heads  were  still,  as 
if  they  took  no  part  in  it ;  through  the  intensity  of 
their  absorption  they  were  detached.  Every  now 
and  then  one  of  them  would  lift  and  hold  up  a 
face  among  those  tops  of  heads,  and  it  was  like  the 
sudden  uncanny  insurgence  of  an  alien  life. 

That  stillness  was  abhorrent  to  young  Ransome. 
So  was  the  bowing  of  his  head,  the  cramping  of  his 
limbs,  and  his  sense  of  imprisonment  in  his  pen. 

And  all  his  life  he  woiild  go  on  sitting  there  in 
that  intolerable  constraint.  He  had  no  hope  beyond 
exchanging  a  larger  pen  at  the  bottom  of  the  room 
for  a  smaller  one  at  the  top.  He  had  begun  at  the 
very  bottom  as  an  invoice  clerk  at  a  pound  a  week. 
He  was  now  a  statement  clerk  at  eight  pounds  a 
month.  Working  up  through  all  his  grades,  he  would 
become  a  ledger  clerk  at  twelve  pounds  a  month. 
He  might  stick  at  that  forever,  but  if  he  had  luck 
he  might  become  a  petty  cashier  at  sixteen  pounds. 
That  couldn't  happen  before  he  was  thirty,  if  then. 
He  was  bound  to  get  his  rise  in  the  autumn.  But 
that  was  no  good.  It  wouldn't  be  safe,  not  really 
safe,  to  marry  until  he  had  become  a  petty  cashier. 
To  end  in  the  petty  cashier's  narrow  pen  by  the 
door,  that  was  the  goal  and  summit  of  his  ambition. 


Day  in  day  out  he  worked  now  with  desperate 
assiduity.  He  bowed  his  young  head;  he  cramped 
his  glorious  limbs;  he  steeped  his  very  soul  in  state- 

63 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

ments  of  account  for  furniture.  Furniture  bought 
with  hideous  continuity  by  lucky  devils,  opulent 
beasts,  beasts  that  wallowed  inconsiderately;  worst 
of  all  by  beasts,  abominable  beasts,  who  couldn't 
afford  it  and  were  yet  about  to  marry  ^  and  to  set 
up  house.  Woolridge's  offered  a  shameless  en- 
couragement to  these.  It  lured  them  on;  it  laid 
out  its  nets  for  them  and  caught  and  tangled  them 
and  flung  them  to  their  ruin.  All  over  London  and 
the  provinces  Woolridge's  posters  were  displayed; 
flaunting  yet  insidious  posters  where  a  young  man 
and  a  young  woman  with  innocent,  idiotic  faces 
were  seen  gazing,  fascinated,  into  Woolridge's  win- 
dows. Woolridge's  artist  had  a  wild  humor  that 
gave  the  show  away  by  exaggerating  the  innocence 
and  idiocy  of  Woolridge's  victims.  It  appealed  to 
Ransome  by  the  audacity  with  which  it  had  defied 
Woolridge's  to  see  its  point.  Woolridge's  itself  was 
a  perpetual  tempting  and  solicitation.  Ranny  won- 
dered how  in  those  days  he  ever  resisted  its  appeal 
to  him  to  be  a  man  and  risk  it  and  make  a  home 
for  Winny. 


And  as  the  months  went  on  he  kept  himself  fitter 
than  ever.  He  did  dumb-bell  practice  in  his  bed- 
room. He  sprinted  like  mad.  He  rowed  hard  on 
the  river.  He  was  so  fit  that  in  June  (just  before 
stock-taking)  he  entered  for  the  Wandsworth  Athletic 
Sports,  and  won  the  silver  cup  against  Fred  Booty 
in  the  Hurdle  Race.  He  was  more  than  ever  punc- 
tual at  the  Poly.  Gym. 

And  sometimes,  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  he  would 
take  Winny  for  a  bicycle  ride  into  the  country.     He 

64 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

liked  pushing  her  machine  up  all  the  hills ;  still  more 
he  liked  to  help  her  in  her  first  fierce  charging  of  them, 
with  a  strong  hand  at  the  back  of  her  waist.  That 
was  nothing  to  the  joy  of  scorching  on  the  level 
with  linked  hands.  And  it  was  best  of  all  when 
they  rested,  sitting  side  by  side  under  a  birch  tree 
on  the  Common,  or  lying  in  the  long  grass  of  the  fileds. 

Thus  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  in  June  they  foimd 
themselves  alone  in  a  comer  of  a  meadow  in  South- 
fields.  All  day  Ransome  had  been  overcome  by  a 
certain  melancholy  which  Winny  for  some  reason 
affected  to  ignore. 

They  had  been  silent  for  a  perceptible  time,  Ran- 
some lying  on  his  back  while  Winny,  seated  beside 
him,  gathered  what  daisies  and  buttercups  were 
within  her  reach.  And  as  he  watched  her  sidelong, 
it  struck  him  all  at  once  that  Winny 's  life  was  worse 
even  than  his  own.  Winny  was  clever,  and  she  had 
a  berth  as  book-keeper  in  Starker's,  one  of  the 
smaller  drapers'  shops  in  Oxford  Street,  near  Wool- 
ridge's.  Her  position  was  as  good  as  his,  yet  she 
only  earned  five  pounds  a  month  to  his  eight.  And 
he  hated  to  think  of  Winny  working,  anyway. 

"Winny,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "do  you  like  book- 
keeping?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  said  Winny.  She  didn't,  but 
she  was  not  going  to  say  so  lest  he  shoiild  think  that 
she  was  discontented. 

"They — are  they  decent  to  you  at  Starker's?" 

"Of  course  they  are.  I  would  like,"  said  Winny, 
in  her  grandest  manner,  "to  see  anybody  trying 
it  on  with  me.'' 

"Oh,  well,  I  suppose  it's  all  right  if  you  like  it. 
But  I  thought — perhaps — you  didn't." 

65 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"You'd  no  business  to  think." 

"Can't  help  it.     Bom  thinkin'." 

"Well — it  shows  how  much  you  know.  I  mean 
to  enjoy  life,"  said  Winny.     "And  I  do  enjoy  it." 

Ranny,  lying  on  his  back  with  his  face  turned  up 
to  the  sky,  said  that  that  was  a  jolly  sight  more 
than  he  did ;  that  for  his  part  he  thought  it  a  pretty 
rotten  show. 

Winny  stared,  for  this  utterance  was  most  unlike 
him. 

"My  goodness!  What  ever  in  the  world's  wrong 
with  you?" 

Everything,  he  answered,  gloomily,  was  wrong. 

"What  an  idea!"  said  Winny. 

It  was  an  idea,  he  said,  if  it  was  nothing  else.  At 
any  rate,  it  was  his  idea.  And  Winny  wanted  to 
know  what  made  him  have  it. 

"Oh,  I  dunno.  There  are  things  a  fellow  wants 
he  hasn't  got." 

"What  sort  of  things?" 

"All  sorts." 

"Well— don't  think  about  them.  Think,"  said 
Winny,  "of  the  things  you  have  got." 

"What  things?" 

"Why,"  said  Winny,  counting  them  off  on  her 
fingers,  "you've  got  a  father — and  a  mother — and 
new  tires  to  your  bike.  Good  boots  "  (she  had  stuck 
buttercups  in  their  laces)  "and  a  most  beautiful 
purple  tie."  (She  held  another  buttercup  under  his 
chin.) 

"It  is  a  tidy  tie,"  Ranny  admitted,  smiling  be- 
cause of  the  buttercups.  "But  me  hat's  a  bit 
rocky." 

"Quite  a  good  hat,"  said  Winny,  looking  at  it 

66 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

with  her  Httle  head  on  one  side.  "And  you've  won 
the  silver  cup  for  the  Wandsworth  Hurdle  Race. 
What  more  do  you  want?" 

"It's  what  a  fellow  hasn't  got  he  wants." 

"Well,  what  haven't  you  got,  then?" 

"Prospects,"  said  Ranny.  "I've  no  prospects. 
Not  for  years  and  years." 

"No,"  said  Winny,  with  decision.  "And  didn't 
ought  to  have.     Not  at  your  age." 

She  had  no  sympathy  for  him  and  no  understand- 
ing of  his  case. 

Ranny  sat  up,  stared  about  him,  and  sighed  pro- 
foundly. 

And  because  he  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  say 
he  suggested  that  it  was  time  to  go. 

Winny  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  swiftness  that  im- 
plied that  if  it  was  to  go  he  wanted,  she  was  more 
than  ready  to  oblige  him.  As  she  mounted  her 
bicycle,  the  shut  firmness  of  her  mouth,  the  straight- 
ness  of  her  back,  and  the  grip  of  her  little  hands  on 
the  handle  bars  were  eloquent  of  her  determination 
to  be  gone.  And  her  face,  he  noticed,  was  pinker 
than  he  ever  remembered  having  seen  it. 

And  he  wondered  what  it  was  he  had  said. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IT  was  after  that  evening  that  he  observed  a  change 
in  her,  a  change  that  he  could  neither  account  for 
nor  define.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  trying 
to  avoid  him,  and  that  he  was  no  longer  agreeably 
affected  by  her  behavior,  as  he  had  been  in  the 
beginning  by  her  fugitive,  evasive  ways.  Then  she 
had,  indeed,  led  him  a  dance,  but  he  had  thoroughly 
enjoyed  the  fun  of  it.  Now  the  dancing  and  the 
fun  were  all  over.  At  least,  so  he  was  left  to  gather 
from  her  manner;  for  the  strangeness  of  it  was  that 
she  said  nothing  now.  There  was  about  her  a  ter- 
rible stillness  and  reserve,  and  in  her  little  face,  once 
so  tender,  the  suggestion  of  a  possible  hardness. 

He  was  not  aware  that  the  stillness  and  reserve 
were  in  himself,  nor  that  the  hardness  was  in  his 
own  face  as  it  set  in  his  indomitable  determination 
to  stick  it,  and  not  to  do  the  beastly  thing,  nor  yet 
that  there  were  moments  when  that  stillness  and 
that  set  look  terrified  Winny.  Neither  was  he  aware 
that  Winny,  under  all  her  terror,  had  an  instinct  that 
divined  him  and  understood. 

And  as  the  months  went  on  he  saw  less  and  less 
of  her.  Though  he  was  punctual  at  their  corner  in 
Oxford  Street,  he  was  always  too  late  to  find  Winny 
there.  He  gave  that  up,  and  began  to  haunt  the 
door  in  Starker's  iron  shutter  at  closing-time.  He 
had  found  out  that  girl  clerks,  what  with  chattering 

68 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

and  putting  on  their  hats  and  things,  were  always 
a  good  ten  minutes  later  than  the  men.  He  had 
seen  fellows  (fellows  from  Woolridge's,  some  of 
them)  hanging  round  the  shutters  of  the  big  dra- 
peries to  meet  the  girls.  By  making  a  dash  for  it 
from  Woolridge's  he  could  reach  Starker's  just  in 
time  to  catch  Winny  as  she  came  out,  delicately 
stepping  through  the  little  door  in  the  great  iron 
shutter. 

Evening  after  evening  he  was  there  and  never 
caught  her.  She  was  off  before  he  could  get  through 
the  door  in  his  own  shutter. 

Then  (it  was  one  evening  in  August)  he  saw  her. 
He  was  not  making  a  dash  for  it;  he  was  strolling 
casually  and  without  hope  in  the  direction  of  Stark- 
er's, and  he  saw  her  walking  away,  arm  in  arm  with 
another  girl,  a  girl  he  had  never  seen  before.  He 
would  have  overtaken  them  but  that  the  presence 
of  the  girl  deterred  him. 

He  followed,  losing  them  in  the  crowd,  recovering, 
losing  them  again;  then  they  turned  northward  up 
a  side  street  and  were  gone.  He  noticed  that  the 
strange  girl  was  taller  than  Winny  by  the  head  and 
shoulders,  and  that  she  went  lazily,  deliberately, 
with  suddsn  lingerings,  and  always  with  a  curious 
swinging  movement  of  her  hips.  He  had  been  close 
upon  Winny  at  the  corner  as  they  turned,  so  close 
that  he  could  have  touched  her.  He  thought  she 
had  seen  him,  but  he  could  not  be  sure.  He  was 
also  aware  of  a  large  eye  slued  round  toward  him 
in  a  pretty  profile  that  lifted  itself,  deep-chinned, 
above  Winny's  head.  Their  behavior  agitated  him, 
but  he  forbore  to  track  them  further.  Decency  told 
him  that  that  would  be  dishonorable. 

69 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

The  next  evening  and  the  next  he  watched  the 
door  in  the  iron  shutter,  and  was  too  late  for  Winny. 
But  the  third  evening  he  saw  her  standing  by  the 
door  and  talking  to  the  same  strange  girl.  The  girl 
had  her  back  to  him,  but  Winny  faced  him.  She 
was  not  aware  of  him  at  first;  but,  at  the  signal 
that  he  gave,  she  turned  sharply  and  went  from 
him,  drawing  the  girl  with  her,  arm  in  arm. 

They  disappeared  northward  up  the  same  side 
street  as  before. 

That  was  on  a  Friday.  On  Sunday  he  called  at 
St.  Ann's  Terrace  and  saw  Maudie  Mollis,  who  told 
him  that  Winny  had  gone  up  Hampstead  way.  No, 
not  for  good,  but  with  a  friend.  She  had  been  very 
much  taken  up  lately  with  a  friend. 

"You  know  what  she  is  when  she's  taken  up," 
said  Maudie. 

He  sighed  unaware,  and  Maudie  answered  his 
sigh. 

"It  isn't  a  gentleman  friend." 

"No?"  It  was  wonderful  the  indifference  Ranny 
packed  into  that  little  word. 

"Catch  her':'  said  Maudie. 

She  smiled  at  him  as  he  turned  away,  and  in  the 
middle  of  his  own  misery  it  struck  him  that  poor 
Maudie  would  have  to  wait  many  years  before  Booty 
could  afford  to  marry  her,  and  that  already  her 
proud  beauty  was  a  little  sharpened  and  a  little 
dimmed  by  waiting. 

On  Monday  he  refrained  from  hanging  round  the 
door  in  Starker 's  iron  shutter.  But  on  Tuesday, 
Wednesday,  and  Thursday  he  was  at  his  post,  and 
remained  there  till  the  door  was  shut  almost  in  his 
face. 

70 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

On  Friday  he  was  late,  and  he  could  see  even  in 
the  distance  the  shut  door. 

But  somebody  was  there,  somebody  was  standing 
close  up  against  the  shutter;  somebody  who  moved 
forward  a  step  as  he  came,  somebody  who  had  been 
waiting  for  him.  It  was  not  Winny.  It  was  the  tall 
girl. 

He  raised  his  hat  in  answer  to  the  movement  that 
was  her  signal,  and  would  have  passed  on,  but  she 
stopped  him.  She  stood  almost  in  front  of  him,  so 
that  he  should  not  pass.  And  the  biggest  and  dark- 
est blue  eyes  he  had  ever  seen  arrested  him  with  a 
strange  bending  on  him  of  black  brows. 

The  strange  girl  was  saying  something  to  him, 
in  a  voice  full  and  yet  low,  a  voice  with  a  sort  of 
thick  throb  in  it,  and  in  its  thickness  a  sweet  and 
poignant  quality. 

"Please,"  it  was  saying,  "excuse  me,  you're  Mr. 
Ransome,  aren't  you — Winny  Dymond's  friend?" 

With  a  "Yes"  that  strangled  itself  and  became  in- 
articulate, he  admitted  that  he  was  Mr.  Ransome. 

The  girl  lowered  her  eyelids  (deep  white  eyelids 
they  were,  and  hung  with  black  fringes,  marvelously 
thick  and  long);  she  lowered  them  as  if  her  own 
behavior  and  his  had  made  her  shy. 

"I'm  Winny 's  friend,  too,"  she  said.  "That's 
why  I'm  here." 

And  with  that  she  looked  him  in  the  face  with  eyes 
that  shot  at  him  a  clear  blue  out  of  their  darkness. 
Her  eyes,  as  he  expressed  it  afterward,  were  "stun- 
ners, ' '  and  they  were  ' '  queer ' ' ;  they  were  the  ' '  queer- 
est" thing  about  her.  That  was  his  word  for  their 
half -fascinating,  half-stupefying  quality. 

"Are  you  waiting  for  her?"  he  asked. 

71 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"No.     It's  no  good  waiting  for  her.     She's  gone." 

"Gone?" 

"Gone  home." 

He  rallied.     "Then  what  are  you  waiting  for?" 

"I  was  waiting  for  you,"  she  said,  "to  tell  you  that 
it's  no  good." 

He  had  moved  a  little  way  out  of  the  stream  of 
people,  so  that  he  was  now  placed  with  his  back 
against  the  shutter,  and  she  with  her  shoulder  to  the 
stream.  As  she  stood  thus  a  man  jostled  her,  more 
to  attract  her  attention  than  to  move  her  from  his 
path.  She  gave  a  little  gasp  and  shrank  back  with 
a  movement  that  brought  her  nearer  to  Ransome 
and  to  his  side.  And  as  she  moved  there  came  from 
her,  from  her  clothes,  and  from  her  hair,  a  faint  odor 
of  violets,  familiar  yet  wonderful. 

"You  don't  mind  my  speaking  to  you?"  she  said. 

"No,"  said  he,  "but  let's  get  out  of  this  first." 

He  put  his  hand  lightly  on  her  arm  to  steer  her 
through  the  stream.  There  was  something  about  her 
— it  may  have  been  in  her  voice,  or  in  the  way  she 
looked  at  him — something  helpless  that  implored  and 
entreated  and  appealed  to  his  young  manhood  for 
protection.  Her  arm  yielded  to  his  touch,  yet  with 
a  slight  pressure  that  made  him  aware  that  its  tissue 
was  of  an  incredible  softness.  Somehow,  for  the 
moment  while  this  touch  and  pressure  lasted,  he 
found  it  impossible  to  look  at  her.  Some  instinct 
held  his  eyes  from  her,  as  if  he  had  been  afraid. 

They  moved  on  slowly,  aimlessly  it  seemed  to 
Ransome;  yet  steering  he  was  steered,  northward,  up 
the  side  street  where  he  had  seen  her  disappear  with 
Winny.  It  was  quiet  there.  He  no  longer  touched 
her.     He  could  look  at  her  now, 

72 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  looked.  And  what  he  saw  was  a  girl  well  grown 
and  of  incomparable  softness.  She  could  not  have 
been  much  more  than  twenty,  but  her  body  was  al- 
ready rounded  to  the  full  flower  of  its  youth.  This 
body  was  neither  tall  nor  slender  nor  particularly 
graceful.  Yet  it  carried  itself  with  an  effect  of  tall- 
ness  and  slendemess  and  grace. 

In  the  same  way  she  impressed  him  as  being  well 
dressed.  Yet  she  only  wore  a  little  plain  black  gown 
cut  rather  low,  with  a  broad  lace  collar.  There  was  a 
black  velvet  band  round  her  waist  and  another  on 
her  wide  black  hat.  And  yet  another  and  a  narrower 
band  of  black  velvet  round  her  full  white  neck. 

The  face  above  that  neck  was  not  beautiful,  for  her 
little  straight  nose  was  a  shade  too  blunt,  her  upper 
lip  a  shade  too  long  and  too  flat ;  her  large  mouth,  red 
and  sullen-sweet,  a  shade  too  unfinished  at  the  edges. 
There  was,  moreover,  a  hint  of  fullness  about  the  jaw 
and  chin.  But  the  color  and  the  texture  of  this  face 
made  almost  imperceptible  its  flaws  of  structure.  It 
was  as  if  it  had  erred  only  through  an  excess  of  soft- 
ness that  made  the  flesh  of  it  plastic  to  its  blood,  to 
the  subtle  flame  that  transfused  the  white  of  it, 
flushing  and  burning  to  rose-red,  A  flame  that  even 
in  soaring  knew  its  place ;  for  it  sank  before  it  could 
diminish  the  amazing  blueness  of  her  eyes;  and  it 
had  left  her  forehead  and  her  eyelids  to  the  whiteness 
that  gave  accent  to  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  black 
as  her  black  hair. 

That  was  how  this  girl's  face,  that  was  not  beauti- 
ful, contrived  to  give  an  impression  of  strange  beauty, 
fascinating  and  stupefying  as  her  voice. 

Her  voice  had  begim  again. 

"It  really  isn't  any  good,"  it  said. 

73 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"What  isn't?" 

* '  Your  hanging  about  like  this.  It  won't  help  you. 
It  won't,  really.     You  don't  know  Winny." 

"I  say,  did  she  ask  you  to  tell  me  that?" 

"Not  she!  'Tisn't  likely.  And  if  she  did,  you 
don't  suppose  I'd  let  on.  I'm  giving  you  the  straight 
tip.  I'm  telling  you  what  I  know  about  her.  I'm 
her  friend,  else  I  couldn't  do  it." 

"But— why?" 

"Don't  ask  me — how  do  I  know?  I  suppose  I 
couldn't  stand  seeing  you  waiting  outside  there,  night 
after  night,  all  for  nothing." 

She  drew  herself  up,  so  that  she  seemed  to  be  look- 
ing down  at  him;  she  seemed,  with  all  her  youth,  to 
be  older  than  he,  to  be  no  longer  childlike  and  inno- 
cent and  helpless.  And  her  voice,  her  incomparable 
voice,  had  an  edge  to  it ;  it  was  the  voice  of  maturity, 
of  experience,  of  the  wisdom  of  the  world. 

"You  can  take  it  from  me,"  said  this  voice,  "that 
it  doesn't  do  a  man  a  bit  of  good  to  go  on  hanging 
about  a  girl  and  worrying  her  when  she  doesn't 
want  him." 

"You  mean — she  doesn't  like  me?" 

"Like  you?  As  far  as  I  know  she  likes  you  well 
enough." 

"Then — for  the  life  of  me  I  can't  see  why — " 

' '  Liking  a  man  isn't  wanting  him.  And  you're  not 
going  the  way  to  make  Winny  want  you." 

"Oh—" 
He  had  drawn  up  in  the  middle  of  the  pavement  just 
to  consider  whether,  after  all,  there  wasn't  something 
in  it. 

"You're — ^you're  not  offended?"  Her  voice  im- 
plored now  and  pleaded. 

74 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"That's  all  right." 

"Well — if  you're  sure  you're  not — would  you  mind 
seeing  me  home?" 

"Certainly.     With  pleasure." 

She  was  all  helpless  again  and  childlike,  and  he 
liked  her  that  way  best. 


"I  don't  Hke  the  streets,"  she  explained.  "I'm 
afraid  of  them.  I  mean  I'm  afraid  of  the  people  in 
them.  They  stare  at  me  something  awful.  So 
horribly  rude,  isn't  it,  to  stare?" 

"Rude?"  said  Ransome.     "It's  disgustin'." 

"As  if  there  was  something  peculiar  about  me. 
Do  you  see  anything  peculiar  about  me  ?  Anything, 
I  mean,  to  make  them  stare?" 

He  was  silent. 

''Do  you?"  she  insisted,  poignantly. 

They  were  advancing  headlong  toward  intimacy 
and  its  embarrassments. 

"Well,  no,"  he  said,  "if  you  ask  me — no,  I  don't. 
Except  that,  don't  you  know,  you're — " 

"I'm  what?" 

"Well—" 

"Oh!"  (She  became  more  poignant  than  ever.) 
"You^a,  then—" 

"No,  I  don't — on  my  honor  I — I  only  meant  that 
— well,  you  are  a  bit  out  of  the  way,  you  know." 

Her  large  gaze  interrogated  him. 

"Out  of  the  way  all  round,  I  should  fancy.  Some- 
thing rather  wonderful." 

"Something — rather — wonderful — "  she  repeated, 
drowsily. 

"Strikes  me  so — that's  all." 
6  75 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Strange?" 

"Sort  of—" 

"It  is  strange  that  we  should  be  talking  this  way 
— when  you  think —  Why,  you  don't  even  know 
my  name." 

"No  more  I  do,"  said  Ransome. 

"My  name  is  Violet.  Violet  Usher.  Do  you 
like  it?" 

"Very  much,"  said  Ransome. 

He  did  not  know  if  this  was  "cock-a-tree";  but  if 
it  was  he  found  himself  enjoying  it. 

"And  yours  is  Randall.  Mr.  Randall  Ransome, 
aren't  you?" 

"I  say,  you  know;  how  did  you  get  hold  of  that?" 

"Why— Winny  told  me." 

In  the  strangeness  of  it  all  he  had  forgotten  Winny. 

"Then  she  told  you  wrong.  Now  I  think  of  it, 
Winny  doesn't  know  my  real  name.  My  real  name 
would  take  your  breath  away." 

"Tell  it  me." 

"Well — if  you  will  have  it — stand  well  back  and 
hold  your  hat  on.  Don't  let  it  catch  you  full  in  the 
face.  John — Randall — Fulleymore — Ransome.  Now 
you  know  me." 

She   smiled   enchantingly.     "Not   quite.     But    I 
know  something  about  you  Winny  doesn't  know. 
That's  strange,  isn't  it?" 
'    It  was,  if  you  came  to  think  of  it. 

They  had  crossed  the  Euston  Road  now,  and  Miss 
Usher  tiirned  presently  up  another  side  street  going 
north.  She  stopped  at  a  door  in  a  long  row  of  dingy 
houses. 

"This  is  me,"  she  said,  "I've  got  a  room  here.  It 
was  awfully  good  of  you  to  bring  me." 

76 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Not  at  all,"  he  murmured. 

"And  you're  sure  you  didn't  mind  my  speaking 
to  you  like  that?  I  wouldn't  have  done  it  if  I 
hadn't  been  Winny's  friend." 

"Of  course  not." 

She  was  not  sure  whether  he  were  answering  her 
question  or  assenting  to  her  statement. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  "you're  going  home?" 

"I  suppose  so."  But  he  remained  rooted  to  the 
doorstep,  digging  into  a  crevice  in  it  with  his  stick. 

From  the  upper  step  she  watched  him  intently. 

"And  we  sha'n't  see  each  other  again." 

He  was  not  sure  whether  it  was  a  statement  or  a 
question. 

"Sha'n't  we?"  He  said  it  submissively,  as  if  she 
really  knew. 

She  was  opening  the  door  now  and  letting  herself 
in.     Miss  Usher  had  a  latch  key. 

"Where?"  said  Miss  Usher,  softly,  but  with  in- 
cision. She  had  turned  now  and  was  standing  on 
her  threshold. 

* '  Oh — anywhere — ' ' 

"Anywhere's  nowhere."  Miss  Usher  was  smiling 
at  him,  but  as  she  smiled  she  stepped  back  and  shut 
the  door  in  his  excited  face. 

He  turned  away,  more  stupefied  than  ever. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  encountered 
mystery.     And  he  had  no  name  for  it. 

But  he  had  made  a  note  of  her  street,  and  of  the 
number  of  her  door. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THAT  night  Ransome  was  more  than  ever  the 
prey  of  thought,  if  you  could  call  it  thought,  that 
mad  racing  and  careering  of  his  brain  which  followed 
his  encounter  with  Miss  Usher.  The  stupefaction 
which  had  been  her  first  effect  had  given  way  to  a 
peculiar  excitement  and  activity  of  mind.  When 
he  said  to  himself  that  Miss  Usher  had  behaved 
queerly,  he  meant  that  she  had  acted  with  a  fine 
defiance  of  convention.  And  she  had  carried  it  off. 
She  had  compelled  him  to  accept  her  with  her 
mystery  as  a  thing  long  known.  She  had  pushed 
the  barriers  aside,  and  in  a  moment  she  had  estab- 
lished intimacy. 

For  only  intimacy  could  have  excused  her  inter- 
ference with  his  innermost  affairs.  She  had  given 
him  an  amount  of  warning  and  advice  that  he  would 
not  have  tolerated  from  his  own  mother.  And  she 
had  used  some  charm  that  made  it  impossible  for  him 
to  resent  it.  What  could  well  be  queerer  than  that 
he  should  be  told  by  a  girl  he  did  not  know  that  his 
case  was  hopeless,  that  he  must  give  up  running  after 
Winny  Dymond,  that  he  was  only  persecuting  a  girl 
who  didn't  care  for  him.  Ransome  had  no  doubt 
that  she  had  spoken  out  of  some  secret  and  mystic 
knowledge  of  her  friend. 

He  supposed  that  women  understood  each  other. 

And  after  all  what  had  she  done  that  was  so 
extraordinary?     She    had    only   put    into    words — 

78 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

sensible  words — his  own  misgivings,  his  own  pro- 
found distrust  of  the  event. 

What  was  extraordinary,  if  he  could  have  analyzed 
it,  was  the  calmness  that  mingled  with  his  disturb- 
ance. Calmness  with  regard  to  Winny  and  to  the 
issue  taken  out  of  his  hands  and  decided  for  him; 
calmness,  and  yet  a  pain,  a  distinct  pain  that  he 
was  not  subtle  enough  to  recognize  as  remorse  for 
a  disloyalty.  And,  under  it  all,  that  nameless,  in- 
explicable excitement,  as  if  for  the  first  time  in  the 
affairs  of  sex,  he  had  a  sense  of  mystery  and  of 
adventure. 

He  did  not  ask  himself  how  it  was  that  Winny  had 
not  stirred  that  sense  in  him.  He  did  not  refer  it 
definitely  to  Violet  Usher.  It  had  moved  in  the  air 
about  her;  but  it  remained  when  she  was  gone. 


So  far  was  he  from  referring  it  to  Miss  Usher  that 
when  it  died  down  he  made  no  attempt  to  revive 
it  by  following  the  adventure.  He  was  restrained 
by  some  obscure  instinct  of  self-preservation,  also 
by  the  absurd  persistence  with  which  in  thought 
he  returned  again  and  again  to  Winny  Dymond. 
That  recurrent  tenderness  for  Winny,  a  girl  who  had 
no  sort  of  tenderness  for  him,  was  a  thing  he  did  not 
mean  to  encourage  more  than  he  could  help.  Still, 
it  kept  him  from  running  after  any  other  girl.  He 
was  not  in  love  with  Violet  Usher,  and  so,  gradually, 
her  magic  lost  its  hold  upon  his  memory. 


Autumn  came,  and  with  it  another  Grand  Dis- 
play at  the  Polytechnic  Gymnasium,  the  grandest 

79 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

he  had  yet  known.  As  if  it  had  been  some  great 
civic  function,  it  was  attended  by  the  Mayor  of 
Marylebone  in  his  robes.  To  be  sure,  the  Mayor, 
who  was  "going  on"  that  night,  left  some  time  be- 
fore the  performance  of  Mr.  J.  R.  F.  Ransome  on 
the  Horizontal  Bar. 

But  Ranny  was  not  aware  of  the  disappearance 
of  the  Mayor.  He  was  not  perfectly  aware  of  his 
own  amazing  evolutions  on  the  horizontal  bar.  He 
was  not  perfectly  aware  of  anything  but  the  face 
and  eyes  of  Violet  Usher  fixed  on  him  from  the  side 
gallery  above.  The  gallery  was  crowded  with  other 
faces  and  with  other  eyes,  all  fixed  on  him;  but  he 
was  not  aware  of  them.  The  gallery  was  for  him 
a  solitude  pervaded  by  the  presence  of  Violet  Usher. 

She  was  seated  in  the  front  row  directly  opposite 
him;  her  arms  were  laid  along  the  balustrade,  and 
she  leaned  out  over  them,  bending  her  dark  brows 
toward  him,  immovable  and  intent.  He  did  not 
know  whether  she  was  alone  there.  To  all  appear- 
ance she  was  alone,  for  her  face  remained  fixed  above 
her  arms,  and  it  was  as  if  her  eyes  never  once  looked 
away  from  him. 

And  under  their  gaze  an  exultation  seized  him  and 
a  fierce  desire,  not  only  to  exceed  and  to  excel  all  other 
performers  on  the  horizontal  bar,  but  to  go  beyond 
himself ;  beyond  his  ordinary  punctual  precision ;  be- 
yond the  mere  easy  swing  and  temperate  rhythm. 
Instead  of  the  old  good-natured  rivalry,  it  was  as  if 
he  struggled  and  did  battle  in  some  supreme  and 
terrible  fight.  Each  movement  that  he  made  fired  his 
blood;  from  the  first  flinging  of  his  lithe  body  up- 
ward, and  the  sliding  of  its  taut  muscles  on  the  bar, 
to  the  frenzy  of  his  revolving,  triumphal,  glorious  to 

80 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

behold.     Each  muscle  and  each  nerve  had  its  own 
peculiar  ecstasy. 

And  when  he  dropped  from  the  high  bar  to  the 
floor  he  stood  tingling  and  trembling  and  breathless 
from  the  queer  violence  with  which  his  heart  threw 
itself  about.  So  utterly  had  he  gone  beyond  himself. 
And  he  knew  that  his  demonstration  had  not  been 
qmte  so  triumphal,  so  glorious  as  he  had  thought  it. 
There  had  been  far  too  much  hurry  and  excitement 
about  it.  And  Booty  told  him  he  was  all  right, 
but  perhaps  not  quite  up  to  his  usual  form. 

It  was  with  the  air  of  a  conqueror  that  Ranny 
pushed  his  way  through  the  packed  line  of  spectators 
in  the  gallery.  It  was  with  a  crushed  and  nervous 
air,  as  of  some  great  artist,  conscious  of  his  aim  and 
of  his  failure,  that  he  presented  himself  to  Violet 
Usher,  sliding  slantwise  into  the  place  she  made 
for  him. 

It  was  as  if  she  had  known  that  he  would  come  to 
her.  They  shook  hands  awkwardly.  And  with  the 
stirring  of  her  body  there  came  from  her  that  faint 
warm  odor  of  violets. 

"I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  here,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"Winny  brought  me;  else  I  shouldn't  have  come." 

She  was  very  precise  in  making  Winny  responsible 
for  her  appearance.  He  gathered  that  that  was  her 
idea  of  propriety. 

"Well — anyhow — it's  a  bit  of  all  right,"  he  said. 
Then  they  sat  silent  for  a  while. 

And  the  girl's  face  turned  to  Ranny  with  a  flying 
look;  and  it  was  as  if  she  had  touched  him  with  her 
eyes,  lightly  and  shyly,  and  was  gone.  Then  her 
eyes  began  slowly  to  look  him  up  and  down,  up  and 
down,  from  his  bare  neck  and  arms,  white  against  the 

8i 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

thin  crimson  binding  of  his  "zephyr,"  from  his 
shoulders  and  from  his  chest  where  the  Hnes  and 
bosses  of  the  muscles  showed  under  the  light  gauze, 
and  from  his  crimson  belt,  down  the  firm  long  slopes 
to  his  knees ;  and  it  was  as  if  her  eyes  brushed  him, 
palpably,  with  soft  feather  strokes.  They  rested  on 
his  face ;  and  it  was  as  if  they  held  him  between  two 
ardent  hands.  And  over  her  own  face  as  she  looked 
at  him  there  went  a  little  wave  of  change.  Her  rich 
color  stirred  and  deepened;  her  Hps  parted  for  the 
quick  passage  of  her  breath ;  and  her  blue  eyes  looked 
gray  as  if  veiled  in  a  light  vapor. 

Ranny  was  seized  with  an  overpowering,  a  terrible 
consciousness  of  himself  and  of  his  evolutions  on  the 
horizontal  bar. 

"Well,"  he  said,  as  if  in  apology,  "you've  seen  me 
figuring  queerly." 

"Oh,  it's  all  right  for  men,"  she  said.  "Besides, 
I've  seen  you  before." 

"Why,  you  weren't  here  last  time?" 

"No.     Not  here." 

' '  Where,  then  ?  Where  on  earth  can  you  have  seen 
me?" 

She  bent  her  brows  at  him  in  that  way  she  had, 
under  the  brim  of  her  wide  hat.  "I  saw  you  at 
Wandsworth — at  the  Sports — running  in  that  race. 
When  you  won  the  cup." 

"Oh,  Lord,"  said  Ranny,  expressing  his  innermost 
confusion. 

"Well,  I'm  sure  you  ran  beautifully." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  ran  all  right." 

"And  you  jumped!" 

"Anybody  can  jump,"  said  Ranny. 

"Can  they?" 

82 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Oh,  Lord,  yes.     You  should  see  Fred  Booty." 

"I  did  see  him.     You  won  the  cup  off  him." 

She  drew  herself  up,  in  that  other  way  she  had,  as 
if  challenged. 

"And  he'll  win  it  off  me  next  year.  You  bet. 
Look — here  they  are." 

Some  instinct,  risen  he  knew  not  whence,  compelled 
him  to  divert  her  gaze. 

From  below  in  the  great  hall  came  the  sound  of  the 
rhythmic  padding  and  tramping  of  feet.  The  Young 
Ladies  of  the  Polytechnic  were  marching  in.  Right 
and  left  they  wheeled,  and  right  and  left  ranged  them- 
selves in  two  long  lines  under  the  galleries.  Now 
they  were  marking  time  with  the  stiff  rise  and  fall  of 
black  stockings  under  the  short  tunics.  Facing 
them,  at  the  head  of  her  rank,  was  Winny  Dymond, 
very  upright  and  earnest.  And  with  each  move- 
ment of  her  hips  the  crimson  sash  of  leadership 
swung  in  rhythm  at  her  side. 

Miss  Usher  turned  to  him.  "Is  Winny  with 
them?" 

"Rather.  There  she  is.  Right  opposite.  Jolly 
she  looks,  doesn't  she?" 

Miss  Usher  looked  at  Winny.  The  bent  black 
brows  bent  lower,  and  a  large  blue  eye  slued  round 
into  her  profile,  darting  a  sudden  light  at  him. 

' ' Don't  ask  me, ' '  she  said,  "I'm  sure  I  don't  know. ' ' 
And  she  turned  her  shoulder  on  him  and  sat  thus 
averted,  gazing  at  her  own  hands  folded  in  her  lap. 

Ransome  leaned  out  over  the  balustrade  and 
watched  Winny.  And  for  a  moment,  as  he  watched 
her,  he  felt  again  the  old  sense  of  tenderness  and 
absurdity,  mingled,  this  time,  with  that  mysterious 
pain. 

83 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

A  barbell  struck  on  the  floor.  A  feminine  voice 
gave  the  sharp  word  of  command,  and  the  Young 
Ladies  formed  up  for  their  performance  on  the 
parallel  bars. 

Miss  Usher  still  sat  averted. 

"Look,"  he  said,  at  last,  "it's  Winny's  turn." 

She  turned  slowly,  reluctantly  almost,  and  looked. 

Winny  Dymond,  shy,  but  grave  and  earnest,  was 
going  through  her  little  preliminary  byplay  at  the 
bars.  Then,  with  her  startling  suddenness,  she  rushed 
at  them,  and  swung  herself,  it  seemed  to  Ransome, 
with  an  increased  abandonment,  a  wilder  rhythm 
and  motion;  and  when  she  raised  her  body  like  an 
arch,  far-stretching  and  wide-planted,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  it  rose  higher  and  stretched  farther  and 
wider  than  before,  that  there  was,  in  fact,  something 
preposterous  in  her  attitude.  For  as  Miss  Usher 
looked  at  Winny  she  drew  herself  up  and  her  red 
mouth  stiffened. 

Ranny's  tension  relaxed  when  Winny  flung  herself 
from  side  to  side  again  and  over,  and  lighted  on  her 
feet  in  the  little  curtseying  posture,  perfunctory  and 
pathetic. 

He  clapped  his  hands.  "'Jove!  That's  good!" 
He  was  smiling  tenderly. 

He  turned  to  Miss  Usher,  eager  and  delighted. 
"Well— what  'd  you  think  of  it?" 

The  eyes  he  gazed  into  were  remote  and  cold. 
Miss  Usher  did  not  answer  him.  And  he  gathered 
from  her  silence  that  she  disapproved  profoundly  of 
the  performance.     He  wondered  why. 

"Oh,  come,"  he  said.  "She's  the  best  we've  got. 
There's  not  one  of  those  girls  that  can  touch  her  on 
the  bars.     Look  at  them." 

84 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"I  don't  want  to  look  at  them.  I  didn't  think  it 
would  be  like  that.  I'm  not  used  to  it.  I've  never 
been  to  a  Gymnasium  in  my  life  before." 

"You  ought  to  come.  You  should  join  us,  Miss 
Usher.     Why  don't  you?" 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Ransome,  I'd  rather  not.  I 
don't  see  myself!" 

He  didn't  see  her  either.  Some  of  his  innocence 
had  gone.  She  had  taken  it  away  from  him.  He 
was  beginning  to  understand  how  Winny's  perform- 
ance had  struck  her.  It  was  magnificent,  but  it  was 
not  a  thing  that  could  be  done  by  a  nice  woman, 
by  a  woman  who  respected  herself  and  her  own 
womanhood  and  her  own  beauty;  not  a  thing  that 
could  be  done  by  Violet  Usher.  He  was  not  sure 
that  in  her  view  it  was  consistent  with  propriety, 
with  reticence,  with  a  perfect  purity.  And  he  be- 
gan to  wonder  whether  his  own  view  of  it  had  not 
been  a  little  shameless. 

He  rushed,  for  sheer  decency,  into  a  stuttering 
defense. 

"Well,  but— well,  but— but  it's  all  right,  don't 
you  know?" 

' '  It's  all  right  for  men.     They're  different.  But—" 

"Not  right  for  women?" 

"If  you  reelly  want  to  know — no.  I  don't  think 
it  is.     It  isn't  pretty,  for  one  thing." 

"Oh,  I  say — how  about  Winny?" 

"Winny's  different.  It  doesn't  seem  to  matter 
so  much  for  her." 

"Why  not— for  her?" 

"Well — she's  a  queer  creature  anyhow." 

"How  d'you  mean — queer?" 

"Well — more  like  a  boy,  somehow,  than  a  girl. 

85 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

She  doesn't  care.  She'll  do  anything.  And  she's 
plucky.  If  she's  taken  a  thing  into  her  head  she'll 
go  through  with  it  whatever  you  say." 

"Yes,  she's  got  pluck,"  he  assented.    "And  cheek.'* 

"Mind  you,  she's  as  good  as  gold,  with  all  her 
queemess.  But  it  is  queer,  Mr.  Ransome,  if  you're 
a  woman,  not  to  care  what  you  do,  or  what  you  look 
like  doing  it.  And  she's  so  innocent,  she  doesn't 
reelly  know.  She  couldn't  do  it  if  she  did.  All  the 
same,  I  wish  she  wouldn't." 

She  seemed  to  brood  over  it  in  beautiful  distress. 

"It's  a  pity  that  the  boys  encourage  them.  Boys 
don't  mind,  of  course.     But  men  don't  like  it." 

And  with  every  word  of  her  strange,  magical 
voice  there  went  from  him  some  shred  of  innocence 
and  illusion.  It  was,  of  course,  his  innocence,  his 
ignorance  that  had  made  him  tolerant  of  a  Grand 
Display,  that  had  filled  him  with  admiration  for 
the  Young  Ladies  of  the  Polytechnic  Gymnasium, 
and  that  had  attracted  him  to  Winny  Dymond. 
Everything  he  had  thought  and  felt  about  Winny 
was  illusion.  It  was  illusion,  that  sense  she  gave 
him  of  tenderness  and  of  absurdity.  Gymnastics 
were  all  very  well  in  their  way.  But  nice  women, 
the  women  that  men  cared  about,  women  like  Violet 
Usher,  did  not  make  of  their  bodies  a  spectacle  in 
Grand  Displays.  Little  Winny,  whatever  she  did, 
was  all  right,  of  course;  but  now  he  came  to  think 
of  it,  he  began  to  wish,  like  Violet  Usher,  that  she 
wouldn't  do  it.  It  was  as  a  boy  and  her  comrade 
that  he  had  admired  her.  It  was  as  a  man  that  he 
criticized  her  now,  looking  at  her  through  Violet 
Usher's  eyes.  And  it  was  as  a  boy  that  he  had  cared, 
and  as  a  man  that  he  had  ceased  to  care. 

86 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

In  one  night  Ranny  had  suddenly  grown  up. 

Of  course,  it  might  have  been  different  if  she  had 
cared  for  him. 

* '  What  does  it  mean,  the  Combined  Maze  ?  What 
is  it?" 

Miss  Usher  was  studying  her  programme. 

The  Combined  Maze?  That  wasn't  so  easy  to 
explain.  But  Ranny  explained  it.  It  was,  he  said, 
a  maze,  because  you  ran  it  winding  in  and  out  like, 
and  combined,  because  men  and  women  ran  in  it 
all  mixed  up  together.  They  made  patterns  accord- 
in'  as  they  ran,  and  the  patterns  were  the  plan  of 
the  maze.  You  didn't  see  the  plan.  You  didn't 
know  it,  unless  you  were  leader.     You  just  followed. 

"I  see.     Men  and  women  together." 

"Men  and  women  together." 

"Are  you  running  in  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Does  Winny  run  in  it?" 

"Rather.  We  run  together.  You'll  see  how  it's 
done." 

Miss  Usher  thought  she  saw. 


And  they  ran  in  it  together,  Ransome  with  Winny 
before  him,  turning  from  him,  parting  from  him, 
flying  from  him,  and  returning  to  him  again.  Always 
with  the  same  soft  pad  of  her  feet,  the  same  swaying 
of  her  sturdy,  slender  body,  the  same  rising  and  falling 
on  her  shoulders  of  her  childish  door-knocker  plat. 

Winny  was  a  child;  that  was  all  that  could  be 
said  of  her;  and  he,  he  was  a  man,  grown  up  sud- 
denly in  a  single  night. 

He  ran,  perfunctorily,  through  all  the  foolish  tum- 

S7 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

ings  and  windings  of  the  maze.  He  put  his  hands  on 
Winny's  waist  to  guide  her  when,  in  her  excitement, 
she  went  wrong.  He  Hnked  his  arm  with  hers  when 
they  ran  locked,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  in  the  Great 
Wheel;  but  it  was  as  if  he  held  and  caught,  and  was 
locked  together  with  a  child.  Winny's  charm  was 
gone;  and  with  it  gone  the  sense  of  tenderness  and 
absurdity;  gone  the  magic  and  the  madness  of  the 
running.  For  in  Ranny's  heart  there  was  another 
magic  and  another  madness.  And  it  was  as  if  Life 
itself  had  caught  him  and  locked  him  with  a  woman 
in  the  whirling  of  its  Great  Wheel. 


CHAPTER  IX 

HE  haunted  that  door  in  the  shutter  more  than 
ever  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Violet  Usher.  Not 
that  he  wanted  to  haunt  it.  It  was  as  if,  set  his  feet 
southward  as  he  would,  they  were  turned  back  ir- 
resistibly and  drawn  eastward  in  the  direction  of  the 
door. 

There  was  nothing  furtive  and  secret  in  his  haunt- 
ing. He  had  a  right  to  hang  about  Starker's,  for 
he  knew  Miss  Usher  now.  He  had  been  formally 
introduced  to  her  by  Winnj^  as  they  left  the  Poly- 
technic together,  on  the  night  of  the  Grand  Dis- 
play. Winny,  preoccupied  with  her  own  perform- 
ance on  the  parallel  bars,  had  remained  unaware 
of  their  communion  in  the  gallery,  and  Violet  Usher 
had  evidently  judged  it  best  to  say  nothing  about 
their  previous  interviews. 

The  introducing,  of  course,  made  all  the  difference 
in  the  world;  for  Ransome,  reckless  as  he  was,  re- 
spected the  conventions  where  women  were  con- 
cerned. He  had  seen  too  much  of  the  secret  and 
furtive  ways  of  other  fellows,  and  he  knew  what  their 
hanging  about  meant.  It  meant  in  nine  cases  out 
of  ten  that  they  wanted  kicking  badly.  And  Ranny 
would  have  told  you  gravely  that,  in  his  experience, 
it  was  the  "swells"  who  wanted  kicking  most  of  all. 
The  "fellows,"  the  shop  assistants,  and  the  young 
clerks,  like  himself,  were  fairly  decent,  but  some- 

89 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

times  they  wanted  kicking,  too,  and  in  any  case  the 
"flabby"  way  they  fooled  about  with  girls,  and  their 
"silly  goats'  talk"  outraged  Ranny.  It  made  a  girl 
cheap,  and  kept  other  fellows  off  her.  It  didn't  give 
her  her  chance.     It  wasn't  cricket. 

He  was  prepared  to  kick,  personally,  any  fellow  he 
found  making  Winny  Dymond  or  Violet  Usher  cheap. 

Not  that  Winny  lent  herself  to  cheapness,  but 
about  Violet  he  was  not  quite  sure.  And  if  you  had 
asked  why  not,  he  would  have  told  you  it  was  be- 
cause she  was  so  different.  By  which  he  meant  so 
dangerously,  so  disastrously  feminine  and  innocent 
and  pretty.  He  knew  now  (she  had  "jolly  well 
shown  him")  that  Winny  could  take  care  of  herself; 
but  Violet,  no;  she  was  too  impulsive,  too  helpless, 
too  confiding.  To  think  of  her  waiting  for  him  like 
that — for  a  fellow  she'd  never  met  before— in  Ox- 
ford Street  at  closing-time !  How  did  she  know  that 
he  wasn't  a  blackguard?  Supposing  it  had  been 
some  other  fellow?  Ranny 's  muscles  quivered  as 
he  thought  of  Violet's  innocence  and  Violet's  danger. 

All  this  was  luminously  clear  to  Ranny. 

But  when  he  asked  himself  why,  and  to  what  end 
he  himself  desired  to  cultivate  her  acquaintance,  it 
was  there  that  obscurity  set  in.  One  thing  he  was 
sure  about.  He  did  not  intend  to  marry  her.  If 
he  couldn't  afford  to  marry  Winny  he  most  certainly 
could  not  afford  to  marry  Violet,  not  for  years  and 
years,  so  many  years  that  you  might  just  as  well  say 
never,  and  have  done  with  it.  Violet  was  not  the 
sort  of  girl  you  could  ask  to  wait  for  you  years  and 
years.  His  youth  was  not  too  sanguine  to  divine 
in  her  the  makings  of  a  more  expensive  woman  than 
even  a  petty  cashier  could  afford. 

90 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

To  be  sure,  Ranny  did  not  enter  into  any  sordid 
calculations,  neither  did  he  think  the  thing  out  in  so 
many  words;  for  in  this  matter  of  Violet  Usher  he 
was  incapable  of  any  sustained  and  connected 
thought.  It  came  to  him — the  utter  hopelessness  of 
it — in  glimpses  and  by  flashes,  as  he  sat  at  his  high 
desk  in  the  counting-house. 

But  no  flashes  came  to  him  with  the  question,  Why, 
then,  did  he  keep  on  running  after  Violet  Usher  ?  He 
ran  because  he  couldn't  help  it;  because  of  the  sheer 
excitement  of  the  running;  because  he  was  venture- 
some, and  because  of  the  ver}^  mystery  and  danger  of 
the  adventure. 

But,  though  he  hung  round  Starker 's  evening  after 
evening,  from  the  middle  to  the  very  end  of  October, 
he  never  once  caught  sight  of  Violet  Usher.  Winny 
he  caught,  as  often  as  not,  now  that  he  had  given  up 
trying  to  catch  her;  sometimes  he  caught  her  at 
Starker's,  sometimes  at  their  old  comer  by  the 
Gymnasium ;  and  whenever  he  caught  her  he  walked 
home  with  her.  If  Winny  did  not  positively  seek 
capture,  she  no  longer  positively  evaded  it.  She  was 
no  longer  afraid  of  him,  recognizing,  no  doubt,  that 
he  wanted  nothing  of  her,  that  he  would  never 
worry  her  again.  It  was  as  if  she  had  given 
him  his  lesson,  and  was  content  now  that  he  had 
learned  it. 

One  night,  early  in  November,  as  they  were  going 
over  Wandsworth  Bridge,  the  question  that  had  been 
burning  in  him  suddenly  flared  up. 

"What  has  become  of  your  friend  Miss  Usher?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Winny,  "has  become  of  her. 
She's  gone  home.     Her  father  sent  for  her." 

"What  ever  for?" 

7  91 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"To  look  after  her.  She  never  should  have  left 
home." 

Then  she  told  him  what  she  knew  of  Violet,  bit  by 
bit,  as  he  drew  it  out  of  her.  She  was  very  fond  of 
Violet.  Violet  had  pretty  ways  that  made  you  fond 
of  her.  Everybody  was  fond  of  Violet.  Only  her 
people — they'd  been  a  bit  too  harsh  and  strict  with 
her,  Winny  fancied.  Not  that  she  knew  anything 
but  what  Violet  had  told  her. 

Where  was  her  home  ? 

In  the  country.  Down  in  Hertfordshire.  Her 
father  was  a  farmer,  a  small  farmer.  The  trouble  was 
that  Violet  couldn't  bear  the  country.  She  wouldn't 
stay  a  day  in  it  if  she  could  help  it.  She  was  all  for 
life.  She'd  been  about  a  year  in  town.  No,  Winny 
hadn't  known  her  for  a  year.  Only  for  a  few  months 
really,  since  she  came  to  Starker's.  She'd  been  in 
several  situations  before  that.  She  was  assistant  at 
the  ribbon  counter  at  Starker's.  The  clerks  didn't 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  shop  girls  as  a  rule: 
but  Winny  thought  the  custom  silly  and  stuck  up. 
Anyhow,  she'd  taken  a  fancy  to  Violet,  seeing  her  go 
in  and  out.  And  Violet  needed  a  deal  of  looking 
after.  She  was  like  a  child.  A  spoiled  child  with 
little  ways.  Winny  had  tried  her  best  to  take  care 
of  her,  but  she  couldn't  be  taking  care  of  her  all 
the  time.  She  was  glad  she  had  gone  home,  though 
she  was  so  fond  of  her.  But  she  was  afraid  she 
wouldn't  stay  long. 

"You  think,"  said  Ransome,  "she'll  come  back?" 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  she  turned  up  any 
day." 

"And  you'll  take  care  of  her?" 

"Yes,  I  shall  take  care  of  her." 

92 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  looked  at  her,  and  for  a  moment  it  revived,  it 
stirred  in  his  heart,  that  odd  mingled  sense  of  ab- 
surdity and  tenderness. 


She  would  come  back,  he  told  himself;  she  would 
come  back.  Meanwhile  he  could  call  his  soul  his 
own,  to  say  nothing  of  his  body.  Under  all  the 
shock  of  it  Ransome  felt  a  certain  relief  in  realizing 
that  Violet  Usher  had  gone.  It  was  as  if  some  dan- 
ger, half  discerned,  had  been  hanging  over  him  and 
had  gone  with  her. 

But  winter  and  spring  passed,  and  she  did  not  come 
back.  They  passed  monotonously,  like  all  the 
springs  and  winters  he  had  known.  He  had  got  his 
rise  at  Michaelmas ;  but  he  was  free  from  the  obses- 
sion of  the  matrimonial  idea  and  all  that  he  now 
looked  forward  to  was  an  indefinite  extension  of  the 
Athletic  Life. 

In  June  of  nineteen-four  he  entered  for  the  Wands- 
worth Athletic  Sports.  He  hoped  to  win  the  silver 
cup  for  the  Hurdle  Race,  against  Fred  Booty,  as  he 
had  done  last  year. 

Wandsworth  was  sure  of  its  J.  R.  F.  Ransome. 
Putney  and  Wimbledon,  competing,  were  not  send- 
ing any  better  men  than  they  had  sent  last  year. 
And  this  year,  as  Booty  owned,  Ransome  was  "a.  fair 
masterpiece,"  a  young  miracle  of  fitness.  His  ad- 
mirable form,  hitherto  equal  to  young  Booty's,  was 
improved  by  strenuous  training,  and  at  his  worst  he 
had  what  Booty  hadn't,  a  fire  and  a  spirit,  a  power, 
utterly  incalculable,  of  sudden  uprush  and  outburst, 
like  the  loosening  of  a  secret  energy.  When  he 
flagged  it  would  rise  in  him  and  sting  him  to  the 

93 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

spurt.  But,  while  it  made  him  the  dading  of  the 
crowd,  it  was  apt  to  upset  the  betting  of  experts  at 
the  last  minute. 

There  is  a  level  field  not  far  from  Wandsworth 
which  is  let  for  football  matches  and  athletic  sports. 
Railings  and  broken  hedges  and  a  few  elm  trees  belt 
the  field.  All  round  the  space  marked  out  for  the 
contest,  a  ring  of  ropes  held  back  the  straining  crowd; 
and  all  round,  within  the  ring,  went  the  course  for  the 
mile-fiat  race.  Down  one  side  of  the  field,  facing  the 
Grand  Stand,  was  the  course  for  the  jumping,  for  the 
hundred  yards'  fiat  race,  and  for  the  hurdle  race, 
which  was  the  last  event.  On  this  side,  where  the 
crowd  was  thickest,  the  rope  was  supplemented  by  a 
wooden  barrier. 

The  starting-post  was  on  the  right  near  the  en- 
trance to  the  field;  the  winning-post  on  the  left 
directly  opposite  the  Grand  Stand.  Those  who 
could  not  buy  tickets  for  the  Grand  Stand  had  to 
secure  front  places  at  the  barrier  if  they  wished  to 
see  anything. 

Here,  then,  there  was  a  tight-packed  line  of  men 
and  women,  youths  and  girls,  with  an  excited  child 
here  and  there  squeezed  in  among  them,  or  squatting 
at  their  feet  under  the  barrier.  Here  were  young 
Tyser  and  Buist  and  Wauchope  of  the  Polytechnic, 
who  had  come  to  cheer.  And  here,  by  the  winning- 
post,  well  in  the  front,  having  been  there  since  the 
gates  were  open,  were  Maudie  Hollis  and  Winny 
Dymond,  in  flower-wreathed  hats  and  clean  white 
frocks.  Behind,  conspicuous  in  their  seats  on  the 
Grand  Stand  as  became  them,  were  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Randall,  and  with  them  was  Ranny's  mother. 

For  all  these  persons  there  was  but  one  event — the 

94 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Hurdle  Race.  For  all  of  them,  expectant,  concen- 
trated on  the  imminence  of  the  Final  Heat,  there  was 
but  one  distraction,  and  that  was  the  remarkable 
behavior  of  a  young  woman  who  had  arrived  too  late 
for  a  satisfactory  place  among  the  crowd. 

She  had  wriggled  and  struggled  through  the  rear, 
with  such  success  that  her  way  to  the  front  row  was 
obstructed  only  by  the  bodies  of  two  small  children. 
They^were  firmly  wedged,  yet  not  so  firmly  but  that 
a  determined  young  woman  could  detach  them 
by  exerting  adequate  pressure.  This  she  did;  and 
having  loosened  the  little  creatures  from  their  foot- 
hold, she  partly  lifted,  partly  shoved  them  behind 
her  and  slipped  into  their  places  at  the  barrier. 
This  high-handed  act  roused  the  resentment  of  a 
young  man,  the  parent  or  guardian  of  the  children. 
He  wanted  to  know  what  she  thought  she  was 
doing,  shoving  there,  and  told  her  that  the  kids  had 
as  much  right  to  see  the  blooming  show  as  she  had, 
and  he'd  trouble  her  to  give  'em  back  the  place  she'd 
taken.  And  it  was  then  that  the  young  woman  re- 
vealed herself  as  remarkable.  For  she  turned  and 
bent  upon  that  young  man  a  pair  of  black  brows 
with  blue  eyes  smiling  under  them,  and  said  to  him 
in  a  vivid  voice  that  penetrated  to  the  Grand  Stand, 
"Excuse  me,  but  I  do  so  want  to  see."  And  the 
young  man,  instead  of  maldng  the  obvious  retort, 
took  off  his  hat  and  begged  her  pardon  and  gave 
her  more  room  than  she  had  taken. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Randall  (for  he  had  been  observ- 
ing her  for  some  time  with  sidelong  appreciation), 
"some  people  have  a  way  with  them." 

"Some  people  have  impudence,"  said  Mrs.  Ran- 
dall. 

95 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"And  if  it  was  you  or  me,  Bessie,"  Mrs.  Ransome 
said,  "it  wouldn't  have  been  made  so  easy  for  us." 

"I  see  you  wanting  to  shove  anybody,  Emmy," 
said  her  brother. 

"If  I  did,  I  shouldn't  begin  with  little  innocent 
children.  I  should  shove  some  one  of  my  own 
size." 

Then  they  were  silent  and  paid  no  more  attention 
to  the  young  woman  and  her  ways. 

For  far  down  at  the  end  of  the  course  the  racers, 
the  winners  of  the  first  four  heats,  were  being  ranged 
for  the  start,  four  abreast ;  the  two  young  men  from 
Putney  and  Wimbledon  on  the  inside  of  the  course, 
Fred  Booty  in  the  middle,  and  Ransome  outside. 
Booty  knew  that,  starting  even  with  his  rival,  he 
hadn't  much  of  a  chance.  As  for  the  young  men 
from  Putney  and  Wimbledon,  they  would  be  no- 
where. 

Of  those  four  young  bodies,  Ransome 's  was  by  far 
the  finest.  Even  Booty,  with  his  wild  slenderness 
and  faunlike  grace,  could  not  be  compared  with 
Ransome,  so  well  knit,  so  perfect  in  every  limb  was 
he.  Beside  him  the  two  young  men  from  Putney 
and  Wimbledon  were  distinctly  weedy.  He  stood 
poised,  with  head  uplifted,  his  keen  mouth  tight  shut, 
his  nostrils  dilated,  his  eyes  gazing  forward,  intent 
on  the  signal  for  the  start.  His  brown  hair,  soaked 
in  the  sweat  of  the  first  heat  and  then  sun-dried, 
was  crisped  and  curled  about  his  head.  Under  his 
white  gauze  "zephyr"  and  black  running-drawers  the 
charged  muscles  quivered.  His  whole  body  was  a 
qmvering  vehicle  for  the  leashed  soul  of  speed. 

The  pistol-shot  was  fired.  They  let  themselves 
go.     From  far  up  the  course  by  the  winning-post, 

96 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

where  Winny  leaned  out  over  the  barrier,  it  was  as 
if  at  the  first  row  of  hurdles  four  bodies  leaped  into 
the  air  like  one  and  wriggled  there.  At  the  sixth 
row,  well  in  sight,  two  bodies,  Booty  and  Ransome, 
soared  clean  and  dropped  together.  Putney  and 
Wimbledon  rose  wriggling  close  behind  their  drop. 
At  the  seventh  row  Ransome  was  in  front,  divided 
from  Booty  by  an  almost  imperceptible  interval. 
Putney  and  Wimbledon  were  several  yards  behind. 
At  the  eighth  and  the  ninth  hurdles  he  rose  glorious- 
ly and  alone ;  Booty  dropped  with  a  dull  thud  a  yard 
behind  him.  Putney  and  Wimbledon  were  nowhere. 
Nobody  looked  at  them  as  they  went  lolloping,  un- 
evenly, dejectedly,  over  their  seventh  hurdle. 

And  now  Booty  was  catching  up,  but  the  race  was 
Ransome's.  He  knew  it.  Booty  knew  it.  The 
field  knew  it. 

Ranny's  mother  knew  it.  Little  shivers  went  up 
and  down  her  back ;  there  was  a  painful  constriction 
in  her  throat,  and  tears  of  excitement  in  her  eyes; 
her  hand  was  clenched  convulsively  over  her  pocket 
handkerchief  which  had  rolled  itself  into  a  ball. 
She  had  been  holding  herself  in;  for  she  knew  that 
these  symptoms  would  increase  when  she  saw  Ranny, 
her  boy,  come  running. 

Below,  at  the  barrier,  there  were  hoarse  cries, 
shrill  cries,  deep  shouting.  "Go  it,  Ransome!  Go 
it,  old  Wandsworth!  Wandsworth  wins!"  Tyser 
and  Buist  and  Wauchope  were  yelling  "Stick  it, 
Ranny!  Stick  it!"  "Stick  it!"  "Stick— it!"  The 
last  voice,  which  was  Wauchope's,  died  away  in  a 
groan. 

Somebody  was  leaning  over  the  barrier,  on  a  line 
with  the  last  hurdles.     Somebody  stretched  out  an 

97 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

arm  and  shook  a  little  white  handkerchief  at  him  as 
he  came  on.  Somebody  caught  his  eyes  and  struck 
him  with  a  blue  flash  under  black  brows.  She 
struck  and  fixed  him  as  he  ran  to  his  last  leap. 

He  looked  at  her  and  started  and  stood  staggering 
with  checked  speed.  And  as  he  staggered  Booty 
rose  slenderly  and  dropped  and  rushed  on  to  the 
tape-line  at  the  winning-posts.  The  white  tape 
fluttered  across  him  as  he  breasted  it.  Booty  had 
won  the  race. 

They  cheered  him;  they  were  bound  to  cheer  the 
winner.  But  at  the  barrier  and  from  the  Grand 
Stand  there  burst  forth  a  more  frantic  uproar  of 
applause  as  Ransome  recovered  himself  and  took 
his  last  hurdle  at  a  stand. 

It  was  all  very  well  to  cheer  him;  but  he  was 
beaten,  beaten  in  the  race  that  was  his. 


He  staggered  out  of  the  course.  Hanging  his 
head,  and  heedless  of  his  friends,  and  of  Booty's 
hand  on  his  bent  shoulder,  he  went  and  hid  himself 
in  the  dressing- tent. 

And  there  in  the  dressing-tent,  his  faunlike  face 
more  sanguine  than  ever  in  his  passion.  Booty  burst 
out  like  a  young  lunatic.  He  swore  most  horribly. 
He  swore  at  the  umpire.  He  swore  at  Ransome. 
He  swore  at  everybody  all  round.  The  more  Ranny 
congratulated  him,  the  more  he  swore  at  him.  He 
called  Ranny  a  blanky  young  fool,  and  asked  him 
what  the  blank  he  did  it  for.  He  said  it  was  a 
blanky  shame,  and  that  if  anybody  tried  to  give  him 
a  blanky  cup,  he'd  throw  it  at  'em.  Even  when 
they'd  calmed  him  down  a  bit,  he  still  swore  that  he'd 

98 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

give  Ranny  the  cup,  for  Ranny  'd  given  him  the 
race.  He  explained  to  them  in  his  hoarsest  tones 
that  it  stood  to  reason  he  could  never  have  got  in 
with  the  pace  Ranny  'd  got  on  him.  It  wasn't  fair, 
he  said.     It  was  a  fluke,  a  blanky  fluke. 

And  round  him  Tyser  and  Buist  and  Wauchope 
clamored  in  the  tent  and  agreed  with  him,  declaring 
that  it  wasn't  fair.  Of  course  it  was  a  fluke,  a 
blanky  fluke. 

And  Ranny,  though  he  told  Booty  to  dry  up  and 
stow  it;  though  he  put  it  to  Tyser  and  Buist  and 
Wauchope  that  it  wasn't  any  blanky  fluke,  that  it 
couldn't  well  be  fairer,  seeing  how  he'd  funked  it  at 
the  finish,  Ranny  knew  in  his  heart  that  somewhere 
there  was  something  queer  about  it.  He  couldn't 
think  why  on  earth  he'd  funked  it. 


That  night,  in  her  little  room  in  St.  Ann's  Terrace, 
Winny  lay  awake  and  cried. 
Violet  Usher  had  come  back. 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  was  from  the  next  day,  Sunday,  that  he  dated 
it — what  happened.  It  followed  as  a  sequel  to 
the  events  of  Sunday. 

For  Ransome  was  convinced  that  it  never  could 
have  happened  if  he  had  not  gone  with  Wauchope  on 
Sunday  evening  to  that  Service  for  Men.  He  used  to 
say  that  if  you  traced  it  back  far  enough,  poor  old 
Wauchope  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  It  was  poor  old 
Wauchope  who  had  "rushed"  him  for  the  Service 
(in  calling  him  poor  old  Wauchope,  he  recognized 
him  as  the  unknowing  and  unwilling  thing  of  Des- 
tiny). Thus  it  had  its  root  and  rise  in  the  extraor- 
dinary state  of  Wauchope's  soul. 

Wauchope  had  realized  that  he  had  a  soul,  and  was 
beginning  to  take  an  interest  in  it.  That,  of  course, 
was  not  the  way  he  put  it  when  he  approached 
Ransome  on  Saturday  night  after  the  Sports  Dinner 
at  the  "Golden  Eagle."  All  he  said  was  that  he  was 
"in  for  it."  Been  let  in  by  a  curate  Johnnie  who'd 
rushed  him  for  a  Service  for  Men  to-morrow  night 
at  Clapham.  Wauchope  wasn't  going  because  he 
wanted  to,  but  because  the  curate  was  such  a  decent 
chap  he  didn't  like  to  disappoint  him.  He  ran  a 
Young  Men's  Club  in  St.  Matthias's,  Clapham,  and 
Wauchope  helped  him  by  looking  in  now  and  then 
for  a  knock-up  with  the  gloves.  The  curate  was 
handy  with  the  gloves  himself.     A  bit  cumbrous, 

lOO 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

but  fancied  himself  as  a  featherweight,  in  a  skipping, 
dodging,  dance  -  all  -  round  -  you ,  land  -  you  -  one  -  pres- 
ently sort  of  style.  Well,  the  curate  Johnnie  had 
been  handing  round  printed  invitations  for  this 
Service.  ' '  All  Welcome, ' '  don't  you  know  ?  ' '  Come, 
and  bring  a  Friend."  Wauchope  had  promised, 
Honor  Bright,  he'd  come  and  bring  a  friend.  And 
Ransome,  in  a  weak  moment,  had  consented  to  be 
brought. 

The  Service  would  be  at  eight,  and  would  last,  say, 
till  nine.  Half  past  nine  was  the  very  earliest  hour 
he  could  fix  for  his  appointment  with  Miss  Usher. 

For  he  had  seen  her.  She  had  risen  up  before  him, 
to  his  amazement,  on  that  Sunday  evening,  as  he 
turned  out  of  his  own  door  on  his  way  to  supper  with 
Wauchope  at  Clapham.  He  had  walked  with  her  for 
five  minutes,  wheeling  his  bicycle  in  the  gutter,  while 
they  settled  how  and  where  they  were  to  meet. 

She  was  living  in  Wandsworth,  lodging  in  St.  Ann's 
Terrace,  near  to  Winny  Dymond,  so  that  Winny  could 
take  care  of  her.  She  had  got  another  situation  at 
Starker 's,  in  the  millinery  department. 

He  proposed  that  he  should  meet  her  at  closing- 
time  to-morrow,  and  she  smiled  at  him  and  said  she 
didn't  mind;  but  Winny  would  be  there  (he  had 
forgotten  Winny).  Then  he  suggested  next  Satur- 
day afternoon  or  Sunday  about  three;  and  she  said 
she  really  couldn't  say.  Saturday  and  Sunday  were 
such  a  long  way  off,  and  things  might  be  different 
now  that  she  was  in  the  millinery.  And  she  smiled 
again,  and  in  such  a  manner  that  he  had  a  vision, 
a  horrible  vision,  of  other  fellows  crowding  round  her 
on  Saturdays  and  Sundays.  He  more  than  suspected 
that   this   was    "cock-a-tree";    but   it   made   him 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

desperate,  so  that  he  said,  "Well — how  about  to- 
night?" 

Well — to-night  she'd  promised  Winny  she'd  be  good 
and  go  to  church. 

If  he  had  been  madder,  if  he'd  been  more  set  on  it, 
he  would  have  gone  off  with  her  that  minute;  he 
would  have  persuaded  her  to  give  up  church ;  he  him- 
self would  have  broken  his  promise  to  old  Wauchope. 
But  he  did  none  of  these  things,  and  his  abstention 
was  the  sign  and  measure  of  his  coolness,  of  his 
sanity.  He  only  said,  as  any  cool  and  sane  young 
man  might  say:  How  about  after  church?  And  if 
he  called  when  he  got  back  from  Clapham?  He 
wouldn't  be  a  minute  later  than  half  past  nine. 

And  Violet  had  said:  Oh,  well — she  didn't  know 
about  calling.  You  see,  she  only  had  one  room. 
And  he  had  reckoned  with  that  difficulty ;  for  Winny 
Dymond  only  had  one  room  which  she  shared  with 
Maudie.  By  calling,  he'd  meant,  of  course,  on  the 
doorstep,  to  take  her  for  a  walk. 

But  Violet,  for  some  reason,  didn't  care  about  the 
doorstep.  She'd  rather,  if  he  didn't  mind,  that  he 
met  her  somewhere  out  of  doors. 

And  so  they  had  been  drawn  into  an  assignation  at 
the  old  elm  tree  by  the  Causeway  on  Wandsworth 
Plain. 

Thus,  if  it  had  done  nothing  else  to  him,  the  Service 
for  Men  could  be  held  responsible  for  throwing  that 
meeting  with  Violet  much  too  late. 

Still,  he  had  no  misgivings.  It  was  June;  and  in 
June  nine  o'clock  was  still  daytime.  And  when  he 
went  to  the  Service  he  hadn't  any  idea  what  it  would 
do  to  him. 

No  more,   of  course,   had  poor  old  Wauchope. 

102 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Wauchope  was  grateful  and  apologetic;  before  they 
got  there  he  said  he  didn't  know  what  he  might  be 
letting  Ransome  in  for.  The  curate  Johnnie  was 
bossing  the  Service,  but  he  understood  they'd  en- 
gaged another  joker  for  the  Address.  What  he, 
Wauchope,  funked,  personally,  more  than  anything 
was  the  Address.  And  Ransome,  generously,  de- 
clared that  whatever  it  was  like,  he'd  stick  it.  He'd 
stand  by  Wauchope  to  the  finish,  like  a  man. 


They  left  their  bicycles  in  Wauchope's  rooms,  and 
walked  the  few  hundred  yards  to  St.  Matthias's 
Mission  Church. 

St.  Matthias's  Mission  Church  was  a  brand-new 
yellow-brick  building  in  the  latest  Gothic,  with  a 
red-tiled  roof,  where  a  shrill  little  bell  swung  tinkling 
under  the  arch  in  the  high  west  gable. 

Inside,  cream  distempered  walls  with  brown  sten- 
ciHngs ;  in  the  roof,  bare  beams  of  pitch  pine,  stained 
and  varnished;  north  and  south,  clear  glass  windows 
shedding  a  greenish  light ;  one  brilliant  stained-glass 
window  above  the  altar  at  the  east  end. 
i  Up  and  down  the  aisles  between  the  open  pews  of 
pitch  pine  went  the  workers  of  the  Mission,  marshal- 
ing the  men  into  their  seats.  By  the  west  door, 
Wauchope's  friend,  the  cumbrous  curate,  who  fan- 
cied himself  as  a  featherweight,  stood  smiling  and 
shaking  hands  with  each  man  as  he  came,  and  thank- 
ing him  for  coming,  thus  carrying  out  the  idea  that 
it  was  an  entertainment.  He  had  his  largest  smile, 
his  closest  grip  for  Wauchope  and  for  Ransome,  for 
they  were  men  after  his  own  heart.  Ransome  ob- 
served the  curate  critically,  and  without  committing 

103 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

himself  irretrievably  to  an  opinion,  he  owned  that 
he  looked  fit  enough.  There  was  not  about  him  any 
sign  that  you  could  see  of  flabbiness  or  weediness. 
He  was  evidently  a  decent  Johnnie,  and  for  all  that 
happened  afterward  Ransome  forbore  to  hold  him 
personally  responsible. 

The  service,  conducted  by  the  curate,  was  ex- 
tremely brief.  Everything  was  left  out  that  could 
be  left,  to  make  room  for  hymns  wherever  it  was 
possible  to  place  a  hymn.  The  Psalms  were  chanted, 
and  the  curate  intoned  the  Prayers  in  a  voice  that 
was  not  his  natural  voice,  but  something  far  more 
poignant  and  impressive. 

There  were  no  boys  in  the  choir,  and  the  singing, 
that  lacked  their  purifying  and  clarifying  treble,  had 
a  strange  effect,  somber  yet  disturbing.  It  acted 
on  Ranny  like  an  incantation. 

Of  course,  if  he  had  known  what  it  was  going  to 
do  to  him,  he  would  have  kept  away. 

For  though  there  was  nothing  in  his  flesh  and 
blood  and  muscle  that  suggested  an  inebriate  father, 
yet  in  his  profounder  and  obscurer  being  he  was 
Fulleymore  Ransome's  son.  The  secret  instability 
that  made  Fulleymore  Ransome  drink  had  had  its 
effect  on  Ranny's  nervous  system.  His  nerves, 
though  he  was  not  aware  of  it,  were  finely  woven 
and  highly  strung.  He  had  a  tendency  to  be  carried 
away  and  to  be  excited,  exalted,  and  upset.  Since 
Saturday  afternoon  Ranny  had  remained  more  or 
less  in  a  state  of  tension  induced  by  the  hurdle  race, 
by  the  shock  of  seeing  Violet  Usher,  and  by  the  din- 
ner at  the  "Golden  Eagle."  And,  coming  straight 
from  Violet,  he  had  entered  St.  Matthias's  Mission 
Church  keyed  up  to  his  highest  pitch.     So  that  the 

J04 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Service  for  Men  which  subdued  Wauchope  and  made 
him  humble  and  ashamed  and  sent  him  away  trying 
to  be  a  better  man,  that  very  same  Service  worked 
Ranny  up  to  a  point  when  anything  became  possible 
to  him. 

First  of  all,  then,  the  intoning  and  the  chanting 
acted  on  him  exactly  like  an  incantation.  Ranny 's 
will,  the  spiritual  part  of  him,  was  lulled  to  sleep 
by  the  rhythmic  voices,  and  as  his  sense  of  decency 
had  no  reason  whatever  to  expect  an  outrage,  it 
was  also  off  its  guard,  quiescent,  passive  to  the 
charm.  The  rest  of  Ranny  was  exposed,  piteously, 
to  the  rhythm  that  swelled,  that  accentuated,  ac- 
celerated the  vibration  of  his  inner  tumult. 

Then  the  obvious  safety-valve  was  closed  to  him. 
A  sense  of  strangeness  and  of  sudden  shyness  pre- 
vented him  from  joining  as  he  should  have  joined 
in  the  Service.  Ranny  could  not  take  it  out  all  at 
once  in  singing.  That  silence  and  passivity  of 
his  left  him  open  at  every  pore  to  the  invasion  of 
the  powers  of  sound.  These  young,  intensely  vi- 
brant bass  and  tenor  voices  sang  all  round  him,  they 
sang  at  him  and  into  him  and  through  him.  There 
was  a  young  man  close  behind  him  with  a  tenor 
voice  that  pierced  him  like  a  pain.  There  was  Wau- 
chope at  his  right  ear  thundering  in  a  tremendous 
barytone. 

First  of  all  it  was  a  trumpet  call  that  shook  him. 

"  Sold-ier-ers  o-of  Christ!    a-arise, 
And  put  your  armor  on," 

sang  Wauchope.  The  sound  of  that  singing  made 
Ransome  feel  noble;  and  there  is  nothing  more  in- 
sidiously destructive  than  feeling  noble. 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  then,  later  on,  it  was  a  strange  and  a  more 
poignant  cry  that  melted  him,  so  that  his  very  soul 
dissolved  in  tenderness  and  yearning. 

"Jesu,  Lover  o-of  my  soul," 
sang  the  young  man  with  the  tenor. 

"Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly, 
While  the  gathering  wa-ters  roll. 
While  the  tempest  sti-ill  is  high." 

(Ranny  felt  them  about  him,  the  waters  and  the 
tempest.) 

"Other  refuge  ha-ave  I  none. 
Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee; 
Leave — ah!  leave  me  no-ot  alone. 
Still  support  and  co-omfort  me." 

And  as  the  infinite  pathos  and  pleading  of  the 
tenor  voice  played  on  him,  Ranny  sank,  lost  and 
shelterless  and  alone,  till  at  the  word  "Life"  he  rose 
again  and  exulted,  he  rose  above  himself,  even  to 
the  point  of  singing. 

"Thou  of  Life  the  fountain  art, 
Freely  let  me  take  of  Thee; 
Spring  Thou  up  with -in  my  heart;" 

sang  Ranny. 

"Rise  to  all  eternity." 

There  was  something  about  that  hymn,  and  his 
own  sudden  crying  out  in  it,  that  made  him  peculiar- 
ly susceptible  to  the  influences  of  the  Address.  When 
the  preacher  rose  in  the  pulpit,  when  he  looked  about 

io6 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

him  with  ardent  and  earnest  eyes  in  a  face  ravaged 
by  emotion,  when  his  wide  and  somewhat  loose  and 
mobile  lips  gave  out  the  text,  Ranny  had  an  obscure 
foreknowledge  of  what  would  happen  to  him. 

For  he  was  not  altogether  virgin  to  the  experience 
he  was  undergoing.  It  belonged  to  certain  moods 
of  his  childhood  and  his  adolescence  when  more  than 
once,  in  Wandsworth  Parish  Church,  he  had  been 
stirred  mysteriously  by  the  tender  music  of  the  Even- 
ing Service,  and  by  the  singing  of  certain  hymns. 
There  were  layers  upon  layers  of  emotion  sunk  be- 
yond memory  in  Ranny 's  soul.  So  that  what  hap- 
pened to  him  now  had  the  profoimd  and  vehement, 
though  secret,  force  of  a  revival.  The  submerged 
feeHngs  rose  in  him;  they  were  swollen,  intensified, 
dominated  beyond  recognition  by  the  virile  and  un- 
spiritual  passion  that  leaped  up  and  ran  together 
with  them  and  made  them  one.  It  gave  them  an 
obscure  but  superb  sanction  and  significance. 

For  that  incantation  not  only  called  up  the  past; 
with  a  still  greater  magic  and  mystery  it  evoked  the 
future.  It  was  a  prophecy,  a  premonition  of  the 
things  to  be.  It  cried  upon  the  secret,  imseen 
powers  of  life.     It  brought  down  destiny. 

"'Know  ye  not  that  your  bodies,'"  said  the 
preacher — and  he  leaned  out  and  looked  to  the  young 
men  on  the  right — '"your  bodies'" — and  he  looked 
to  the  young  men  on  the  left — '"are  the  temples  of 
the  Holy  Ghost'" — and  he  looked  straightforward 
and  paused  as  if  he  saw  invisible  things. 

He  may  have  drawn  a  bow  at  a  venture,  but  he 

seemed  to  have  singled  out  Ranny  from  among  all 

those  young  men.     He  leaned  over  his  pulpit,  and 

fixed  his  kindled  and  penetrating  eyes  on  Ranny. 

8  107 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  adjured  Ranny  to  remember  that  Sin  which  he 
had  never  committed;  he  implored  him  to  recall 
the  shame  which  he  had  never  felt,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  purge  himself  of  that  unholy  memory,  and 
put  away  from  him  the  sensual  thoughts  that  had 
never  occurred  to  him  and  the  abominable  intentions 
that  he  had  never  had. 

Then,  with  a  subtle  and  plastic  inflection  of  his 
voice,  like  the  poise  of  wings  descending,  he  dropped 
from  that  almost  inspired  height  of  emotion,  and 
became  shrewd  and  practical,  thoroughly  informed 
and  competent,  a  physician  with  a  flair  for  the  secret 
of  disease,  a  surgeon  of  the  Soul,  relentless  in  his 
handling  of  the  knife,  a  man  of  the  world  who  spoke 
to  them  of  what  he  knew,  in  all  sincerity,  as  man  to 
man.  And  then  he  soared  again,  flapping  his  great 
wings  that  fanned  emotion  to  a  flame. 

And  through  it  all  the  young  curate  who  had 
brought  them  there  sat  folded  more  and  more  within 
his  surplice,  and  became  more  and  more  red  as  to 
his  face,  more  and  more  dubious  as  to  his  eyes.  He 
was  like  some  young  captain,  wise  though  intrepid, 
who  sees  his  brave  battaHons  routed  through  the 
false  move  of  his  general. 

The  magic  worked.  A  man  behind  Ransome  was 
heard  breathing  heavily.  The  gentle  drowsiness  ha- 
bitually expressed  by  Wauchope's  broad  and  some- 
what flattened  features  was  intensified  to  stupe- 
faction. His  head  had  sunk  slightly  forward,  but 
he  looked  up,  lowering  at  the  preacher  with  his 
little  innocent  eyes,  half  sullen,  half  afraid. 

Wauchope  was  merely  uncomfortable.  He  suf- 
fered on  the  siH"face.  But  Ranny  was  disturbed  pro- 
foundly, shaken,  excited,  and  most  curiously  uplifted. 

io8 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  and  Wauchope  compared  notes  afterward  on 
the  preacher,  whom  they  called  "that  imported 
josser."  They  thought  he  rather  fancied  himself  at 
that  particular  job,  and  supposed  that  he  was  some 
sort  of  a  "pro"  who  had  spoiled  his  "form"  by  over- 
doing it,  and  had  lost  the  confidence  of  his  backers. 
They  agreed  that  if  Wauchope's  friend  the  curate 
had  given  them  a  straight  talk  it  would  have  been 
much  straighter.  As  it  was,  nothing  could  have 
been  more  devious,  more  mysterious  and  serpentine 
than  the  discourse  that  turned  and  wound  and 
wormed  its  way  into  the  last  obscurities  and  se- 
crecies of  Ranny's  being. 

In  the  Mission  Church  of  St.  Matthias's  Ranny  un- 
derwent illumination.  It  was  as  if  all  that  was  dark 
and  passionate  in  him  had  been  interpreted  for  him 
by  the  preacher.  Interpreted,  it  became  in  some 
perverse  way  justified.  Over  and  above  that  inner- 
most sanction  and  recognition  it  had  the  seal  out- 
side it  of  men's  acknowledgment,  it  took  its  place 
among  the  existent,  the  normal,  the  expected. 
Ranny  was  not  alone  in  his  passion  and  confusion. 
He  was  companioned,  here  and  now,  in  the  great 
enlightenment. 

But  even  Ranny  could  not  have  foretold  the  full 
extent  of  his  reaction  to  that  sinuous  and  evocative 
Address. 

Meanwhile,  so  carried  away  was  Ranny  that  he 
joined  Wauchope  in  a  furious  singing  of  the  final 
hymn,  "Onward,  Christian  so-o-oldier-ers!" 

He  had  felt  noble;  he  had  felt  tender;  now  he  was 
triumphant. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WAUCHOPE,  who  hadn't  a  nerve  in  his  compo- 
sition, recovered  soon  after  he  got  into  the 
open  air.  But  in  Ransome,  without  intermission,  the 
magic  of  that  incantation  worked. 

The  symptoms  of  its  working  were  a  frightful  haste, 
anxiety,  and  fear.  He  left  Wauchope  without  any 
explanation,  and  rode  off  to  his  appointment  at  a 
dangerous  speed  and  with  a  furious  ringing  of  his 
bell.  He  was  afraid  that  if  he  were  late  by  five 
seconds  Violet  Usher  would  be  gone.  It  was  in- 
credible to  him  that  she  should  be  there.  It  was 
incredible  that  it  should  have  come  to  this,  that  he 
should  be  flying  in  haste  and  anxiety  and  fear  un- 
speakable to  meet  her  at  the  elm  tree  by  the  Cause- 
way on  Wandsworth  Plain.  The  whole  adventure 
was  incredible. 

Yet  there  could  not  be  a  better  place  for  it  than 
Wandsworth  Plain,  a  three-cornered  patch  of  bare 
ground,  bounded  on  one  side  by  the  river  Wandle, 
and  on  the  other  by  a  row  of  brown  cottages  and  two 
little  old  inns,  with  steep  tiled  roofs  and  naked 
walls,  "The  Bell"  and  "The  Crane."  They  were 
pure  eighteenth  century,  and  they  give  to  Wands- 
worth Plain  its  lonely  and  deserted  air  as  of  a 
little  riverside  hamlet  overlooked  by  time  and  the 
Borough  Council.  On  a  Sunday  evening  in  sum- 
mer they  stand  as  if  in  perpetual  peace,   without 

no 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

rivalry,  without  regret,  very  bright  and  clean  and 
simple,  one  washed  yellow  and  the  other  chalk- 
white.  The  river  runs  under  brown  walls,  shaded 
on  one  side  by  espalier  limes,  on  the  other  over- 
hung with  elder  bushes  in  flower.  Lower  down,  on 
the  banks,  are  willows  and  alders,  and  the  wild  hem- 
lock grows  there,  lifting  up  its  great  white  whorls. 
Beyond  the  farther  wall  and  the  limes  there  is  a  vast 
yard,  stacked  with  timber;  beyond  the  banks  a 
dock;  and  beyond  all,  on  the  great  River,  unseen, 
a  distance  of  crowded  warehouses  and  gray  wharves. 

The  elm  tree,  muffled  in  green,  leans  out  over  the 
stream  as  the  Hghtning  bowed  it  long  ago,  propped 
by  wooden  stays,  mutilated  to  the  merest  torso  of  a 
tree.  A  sacred  thing,  the  elm  tree  is  inclosed  and 
guarded  by  a  wooden  railing  as  in  a  shrine. 

Ransome  was  ten  minutes  too  early,  and  it  was  im- 
possible that  she  should  be  there.  Yet  there  she  was, 
in  her  white  dress,  leaning  up  against  the  wooden 
railing,  as  if  swept  and  then  left  there  in  her  detach- 
ment, so  inaccessible,  so  isolated  was  she,  so  unaware 
or  so  disdainful  of  the  couples,  the  young  devotees 
of  passion,  who  had  made  the  elm  tree  their  meeting- 
place.  She  was  there  too  soon,  yet  about  her  there 
was  no  air  of  haste,  but  rather  of  brooding  and  delay. 
You  would  have  said  of  her  in  her  stillness  that  she 
could  afford  to  wait,  she  was  so  certain  of  her  end. 

She  scarcely  stirred  from  her  place  to  greet  Ran- 
some as  he  came.  He  leaned  up  against  the  railing 
close  beside  her. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  ' T  tore  like  mad.  Did  you 
think  I  was  never  coming?" 

She  smiled  with  a  curious  smile. 

"No,"  she  said.  *T  knew  that  you  would  come." 
Ill 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  they  stayed  there.  (Some  instinct  had  im- 
pelled him  to  call  at  the  shop,  and  leave  his  bicycle 
with  Mercier.  A  bicycle  was  an  encumbrance,  a 
thing  inappropriate  to  the  adventure.)  They  stayed 
while  the  couples,  the  young  devotees  of  passion, 
stood  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  or  moved  away, 
slowly,  like  creatures  in  an  enchantment,  linked 
together,  and  passed  into  the  dusk.  And  in  the  end 
his  hand  sought  and  found  hers,  secretly,  behind  the 
shelter  of  her  gown,  and  they  too  passed,  hand  in 
hand  and  slowly,  like  creatures  in  an  enchantment; 
they  were  drawn  into  the  dusk,  beyond  the  barrier 
at  the  Causeway,  to  the  footpath  by  the  river. 

When  they  returned  to  the  elm  tree  it  was  all  dark 
and  secret  there.  They  stood  as  those  others  had 
stood,  creatures  of  the  enchantment,  locked,  with 
hands  on  shoulders  and  faces  looking  close  and  seeing 
each  other's  eyes  large  and  strange  in  the  darkness. 

Over  Wandsworth  Plain  came  the  sound  of  the 
Parish  Church  clock  striking  ten. 

When  they  reached  St.  Ann's  Terrace  the  little 
brown  house  where  Violet  lodged  was  shut  up,  asleep 
behind  drawn  blinds. 

Violet  could  let  herself  in.  She  had  a  key.  At 
least,  she  thought  she  had.  She  could  have  been 
almost  sure  she  had  brought  it.  But  no,  it  was  not 
in  her  purse,  nor  yet  in  her  pocket.  She  turned  the 
pocket  inside  out  and  shook  it,  and  there  was  no 
key.  Oh,  dear,  she  was  afraid  she  had  lost  it,  or 
else — perhaps — she  hadn't  brought  it  after  all. 
She  was  that  careless.  She  thought  she  must  have 
left  it  in  her  room  on  the  dressing-table. 

They  knocked  three  times,  and  nobody  answered. 
Nobody  was  there.     They  had  all  gone  out  early  in 

112 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

the  evening,  and  evidently  they  had  not  come  back. 
Sometimes,  Violet  said,  they  weren't  back  till  eleven 
or  past  it. 

Well,  she  didn't  want  to  stand  out  there  much 
longer.  She  wondered  how  she  was  ever  going  to 
get  in. 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed  at  their 
helplessness.  There  is  always  something  funny 
about  being  locked  out.  Ranny  said,  "What  a 
lark!" 

Then  he  thought  of  the  window. 

It  was  low.  He  stepped  on  to  the  ledge,  and  stood 
there.  He  slipped  the  latch  with  the  blade  of  his 
pocket  knife.  He  raised  the  sash  and  dropped  into 
the  room.  He  groped  about  in  it  till  he  found  his 
way  into  the  passage  and  opened  the  door  and  let 
Violet  in. 

She  said  she  was  all  right  now.  Her  candle  would 
be  left  there  for  her,  on  the  shelf.  But  it  wasn't, 
and  Violet  didn't  like  the  dark.  She  was  afraid 
of  it.  So  Ranny  lit  a  match.  He  lit  several  matches 
and  lighted  her  all  the  way  up  the  narrow  staircase 
to  the  door  of  her  little  bedroom  at  the  back.  She 
took  the  matches  from  him  and  went  in  to  look  for 
the  candle,  leaving  the  door  ajar  and  Ranny  standing 
outside  it  on  the  mat. 

He  heard  her  soft  feet  moving  about  the  room; 
he  heard  the  spurt  of  the  matches,  and  her  little 
smothered  cry  of  impatience  as  they  went  out 
one  by  one.  It  seemed  ages  to  Ranny  as  he 
waited. 

At  last  she  found  the  candle  and  lit  it  and  set  it 
down  somewhere  where  it  was  hidden  behind  the 
door. 

113 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  then  she  came  to  him  with  her  eyes  all  shin- 
ing in  the  dusk. 

She  filled  the  half -opened  doorway;  and  round 
and  about  her  and  in  the  room  beyond  there  hung, 
indescribable  but  perceptible,  palpable  almost  as  a 
touch,  the  thick  scent  of  her  hair.  And  they  stood 
together  on  the  threshold  as  they  had  stood  by  the 
elm  tree  in  the  dark. 

She  closed  her  eyes,  and  his  hold  tightened.  She 
called  his  name  thickly,  "Ranny!"  and  suddenly  it 
was  as  if  his  very  nerves  and  the  strength  of  his  knees 
dissolved  and  flowed  like  water,  and  drawing  he  was 
drawn  over  the  threshold. 


"Don't  worry  about  it,  Ranny.  It  had  got  to 
be." 

She  said  it,  clinging  to  him  with  soft  hands,  as  he 
parted  from  her.  For  a  moment  she  was  moved 
beyond  herself  by  his  compunction,  his  passion  of 
tenderness  for  the  helpless  thing  she  seemed. 

What  would  have  surprised  him  if  he  could  have 
thought  about  it  was  that,  above  it  all,  above  the 
tenderness  and  the  compunction,  he  still  felt  that 
triumphant  sense  of  sanction  and  completion,  of 
acquiescence  in  an  end  foreappointed  and  foreseen. 

But  before  he  could  think  about  it  he  was  over- 
taken by  an  astounding,  an  incredible  drowsiness. 

He  dragged  himself  home  to  his  attic  and  his  bed, 
where,  astoundingly,  incredibly,  he  slept. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  was  about  nine  o'clock  of  another  Sunday  even- 
ing a  week  later, 

Winny  Dymond  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  Violet's 
bed  in  the  little  back  room  in  St.  Ann's  Terrace. 
Violet,  in  a  white  petticoat  and  camisole,  overcome  by 
the  heat,  lay  stretched  at  length,  like  a  drowsy 
animal,  in  the  hollow  of  the  bed  where  she  had  flung 
herself.  Her  head,  tilted  back,  lay  in  the  clasp  of 
her  hands.  Her  breasts,  drawn  upward  by  the  raised 
arms,  left  her  all  slender  to  the  waist.  The  soft- 
folded,  finely  indented  crook  of  her  elbows  made  a 
white  frame  for  her  flushed  face.  She  was  looking 
at  Winny  with  eyes  narrowed  to  the  slits  of  the  sleepy, 
half-shut  lids. 

In  a  thick,  sweet  voice,  a  voice  too  drowsy  for 
anything  beyond  the  bare  statement  of  the  fact, 
she  had  been  telling  Winny  that  she  was  engaged  to 
^e  married  to  Mr.  Ransome. 

Now  she  was  looking  at  Winny  (all  her  intelligence 
narrowed  to  that  thread-fine  glint  of  half-shut  eyes), 
looking  to  see  how  Winny  would  take  it. 

Winny  took  it  with  that  blankness  that  leaves  the 
brain  naked  to  all  irrelevant  impressions,  and  with  a 
silence  that  made  all  her  pulses  loud.  She  heard 
the  rattle  and  roar  of  a  distant  tram  and  the  clock 
striking  the  hour  in  the  room  below.  She  saw  the 
soiled  lining  and  the  ugly  warp  of  Violet's  shoes 

115 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

kicked  off  and  overturned  beside  the  bed.  Beyond 
the  shoes,  a  stain  that  had  faded  rose  and  became 
vivid  on  the  carpet.  Then  a  film  came  over  Winny's 
eyes,  and  on  the  far  border  of  the  field  of  vision, 
somewhere  toward  the  top  of  her  head,  a  yellow 
chest  of  drawers  with  white  handles  grew  dim  and 
quivered  and  danced  like  the  yellow  and  white 
specter  of  a  chest  of  drawers. 

"I  suppose  you're  surprised,"  said  Violet. 

"No,  I'm  not.     Not  at  all." 

And  she  wasn't.  But  she  was  amazed  at  her  own 
calmness. 

'T  knew  it,"  she  said. 

"Knew  it?" 

"Yes." 

Of  course  she  had  known  it.  If  she  hadn't,  how 
could  she  have  endured  it  now? 

"When  did  you  know?" 

"Last  week.     When  you  came  back." 

That  was  not  true.  She  had  known  it  before  last 
week.  She  had  known  it  as  long  as  she  had  known 
Violet.  And  she  had  known  that  because  of  it 
Violet  would  come  back. 

She  hadn't  blamed  Violet  for  coming  back.  Even 
now,  as  she  sat  on  Violet's  bed  and  was  tortured  by 
those  lights  under  Violet's  eyelids,  even  now  she 
didn't  blame  her.  And  if  she  turned  her  shoulder 
it  was  not  because  she  minded  Violet  looking  at 
her  (she  was  past  minding  that),  but  because  she 
was  afraid  to  look  at  Violet.  She  didn't  want  to 
see  her  lying  there.  It  was  almost  as  if  she  were 
afraid  of  hating  her. 

Behind  her  Violet  was  stirring.  She  had  drawn 
up  her  outstretched  limbs  and  raised  herself  on  the 

ii6 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

pillows.     Winny  felt  her  behind  her,  restless  and 
alert. 

Then  she  spoke  again. 

"You  needn't  mind,  Winny.     It's  got  to  be." 

"Mind?     What  makes  you  think  I'm  minding?" 

"The  way  you  sit  there  with  your  mouth  shut, 
saying  nothing." 

"There's  nothing  to  say.  I'm  not  surprised. 
You've  not  told  me  anything  I  didn't  know." 

"Well,  any  one  would  think  you  didn't  approve 
of  it.  Why  can't  you  get  up  and  say  you  hope  we'll 
be  happy,  or  something?" 

"Of  course,  I  hope  you'll  be  happy.  I  want  you 
to  be  happy." 

(Of  course  she  did.) 

"Look  here" — Violet  was  sitting  up  now — "was 
there  anything  between  you  and  him?" 

Winny  rose  straight  and  turned  and  looked  at 
her. 

"You've  no  business   to  ask  that,"  she  said. 

"Yes  I  have."  She  rose  slowly,  twisted  herself, 
slid  her  foot  to  the  floor,  and  stood  up  facing  Winny. 
"If  I'm  going  to  marry  him  I've  a  right  to  know. 
Not  that  it  '11  make  a  scrap  of  difference." 

"Who  told  you  there  was  anything  between  us?" 

"Nobody  told  me.  I  mean — was  there — before  I 
came?" 

"There  was  never  anything — never.  Any  one 
who  tells  you  anything  different 's  telling  you  a  lie. 
I'm  not  saying  we  weren't  friends — " 

Violet  smiled. 

"I'm  not  saying  you  were  anything  else.  You 
can  go  on  being  friends.  I  sha'n't  care.  Only  don't 
you  go  saying  I  came  between  you — that's  all." 

117 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

At  that  Winny  fired. 

"As  if  I'd  do  any  such  a  thing!  I  don't  know 
what  can  have  put  it  into  your  head." 

Violet  laughed. 

"You  should  see  your  j ace,''  she  said.  "Why — 
any  one  could  tell  you  were  gone  on  him.  They've 
only  got  to  look  at  you." 

There  are  some  insults,  some  insolences  that  can- 
not be  answered. 

"You  can  believe  that,"  said  Winny,  "if  you  like 
— ^if  it  makes  you  any  happier.  But  your  beHeving 
it  won't  make  it  true." 

She  walked  slowly,  in  her  small  dignity,  to  the  chair 
where  she  had  thrown  down  her  hat.  She  took  up 
the  hat  and  put  it  on,  deliberately,  with  a  high 
bravery,  before  the  glass. 

Then  she  turned  to  her  friend  and  smiled  at  her. 

"It's  all  right,"  she  said,  "though  you  mightn't 
think  it.     Good-by." 

Whereupon  Violet  rushed  at  her  and  kissed  her. 

"It  isn't  your  fault,  and  it  isn't  mine,  Winky,"  she 
whispered.     "It's  got  to  be,  I  tell  you." 

She  drew  herself  from  the  embrace,  erect  and  rosy, 
in  a  sudden  passion  that  had  in  it  both  triumph  and 
despair. 

"Wild  horses  couldn't  have  torn  him  and  me 
apart." 


And  Winny  didn't  blame  her;  even  in  the  pain  of 
the  night  that  followed,  when  she  lay  awake  in  the 
bed  she  shared  with  Maudie  Hollis,  stifling  her  sobs 
lest  she  should  waken  Maudie,  clutching  the  edge  of 
the  mattress  where  she  had  writhed  out  of  Maudie 's 

ii8 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

reach.  For  at  the  first  sound  of  crying  the  proud 
beauty  had  turned  to  her  friend  and  put  her  arms 
about  her,  and  held  her  in  a  desolate  and  desolating 
embrace. 

"Don't  cry,  Winny;  don't  cry,  dear.  It  isn't 
worth  it,"  had  been  Maudie's  consolation.  For, 
though  Winny  hadn't  said  a  word  to  her,  she  knew. 
And  she  had  followed  it  up  by  declaring  that  she 
hated  that  Violet  Usher;  and  she  hated  Ransome; 
she  hated  everybody  who  made  little  Winky,  little 
darling  Winky,  cry. 

But  Winky  didn't  hate  them.  It  had  to  be. 
Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  in  its  simplicity 
than  her  acceptance  of  the  event. 

And  she  didn't  blame  them.  She  didn't  blame 
anybody.  She  had  brought  it  on  herself.  The 
thing  was  as  good  as  done  last  summer,  when  she  had 
stopped  Ranny  making  love  to  her.  She  had  stopped 
it  on  purpose.  She  knew  he  couldn't  afford  to  marry 
her,  not  for  years  and  years;  she  knew  he  had  been 
trying  to  tell  her  so;  and  it  didn't  seem  fair,  some- 
how, to  let  him  get  worked  up  all  for  nothing.  That 
was  how  girls  drove  men  mad.  She  considered  that 
she  was  there  to  take  care  of  Ranny,  and  she  had 
seen,  in  her  wisdom,  that  to  keep  Ranny  well  in  hand 
would  be  less  hard  on  him  than  to  let  him  lose  his 
head. 

Violet  hadn't  seen  it,  that  was  all. 

Besides,  Violet  was  different.  She  had  ways  with 
her  which  made  it  no  wonder  if  Ranny  lost  his  head. 
In  Winny's  opinion  the  man  didn't  live  who  could 
resist  Violet  and  her  ways.  She  got  round  you  some- 
how. She  had  got  round  Winny  last  year  when  she 
had  come  imploring  her  to  take  her  to  the  Grand 

119 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Display  at  the  Polytechnic  Gymnasium,  teasing  her 
and  threatening  that  if  she  didn't  take  her  she'd  go 
off  to  the  Empire  by  herself.  She  had  spoken  as  if 
going  to  the  Empire  was  a  preposterous  and  unheard- 
of  thing.  Winny  didn't  know  that  Violet  had  gone 
there  more  than  once,  not  by  herself,,  but  with  the 
foreman  of  her  department. 

And  she  had  had  to  take  her,  and  that,  of  course, 
had  done  it.  Though  she  had  been  afraid  of  this 
thing  and  had  foreknown  it  from  the  beginning,  she 
had  taken  her ;  though  she  had  been  afraid  ever  since 
she  had  seen  Violet's  face  and  watched  her  ways. 
So  afraid  was  she  that  she  had  tried  to  keep  Ranny 
from  ever  seeing  Violet.  Time  and  again  she  had 
hurried  her  away  when  she  had  seen  Ranny  coming, 
while  the  fear  in  her  heart  told  her  that  those  two 
were  bound  to  meet.  She  had  lived  from  hand  to 
mouth  on  her  precarious  happiness,  contented  if  she 
could  stave  off  the  evil  day. 

And  it  was  all  worse  than  useless.  Violet  had  been 
aware  that  she  was  being  hurried  away  when  Ranny 
came  in  sight,  and  it  had  made  her  the  more  set.  As 
for  Winny 's  hope  that  Violet  would  forget  all  about 
Ranny  when  some  other  man  appeared,  it  was  futile 
as  long  as  she  took  care  of  Violet.  Taking  care  of 
Violet  meant  keeping  her  as  far  as  possible  out  of 
the  way  of  other  men  —  so  that  there  again!  It 
seemed  as  if  she  had  arranged  it  so  that  Ranny  should 
be  the  only  one.  For  Winny  had  divined  her  friend's 
disastrous  temperament  even  while  she  maintained 
hotly  that  there  was  no  harm  in  her.  And  she  had 
almost  quarreled  with  Maudie  because  the  proud 
beauty  had  said,  "Well,  you'll  see." 

Winny  knew  nothing  about  Violet  and  the  foreman, 

I20 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  with  the  same  innocence  she  never  doubted 
that  when  Violet  and  Ransome  met  that  night  at 
the  Polytechnic  it  was  for  the  first  time. 


And  so  she  stitched  with  a  good  will  at  a  white 
muslin  blouse  for  Violet's  wedding  present,  and  folded 
it  herself  and  put  it  away  in  the  yellow  chest  of 
drawers  with  the  rest  of  Violet's  wedding  things. 
It  lay  there,  all  snowy  white,  with  a  violet-scented 
sachet  on  the  top  of  it,  a  sachet  (Winny  had  found 
it  in  the  drawer)  with  a  pattern  of  violets  on  a  white 
satin  ground  and  the  name  "Violet"  sprawling  all 
across  it  in  embroidery. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

RANSOME  had  barely  risen  from  that  sleep  of 
exhaustion  when  he  realized  the  disastrous 
character  of  the  night's  adventure.  He  was  no 
longer  uplifted  by  any  sense  of  sanction  and  of 
satisfaction.  Of  the  pride  of  life  there  remained 
in  him  only  sufficient  to  prevent  him  from  regarding 
his  behavior  as  in  any  sense  a  shame  and  a  disaster  to 
his  own  youth.  Otherwise  his  mood  was  entirely 
penitential.  He  could  not  look  at  the  thing  as  it 
affected  himself.  However  it  might  be  for  him,  he 
had  wronged  Violet,  and  that  was  calamity  enough 
for  any  man  to  face.  According  to  all  his  instincts 
and  traditions,  he  had  wronged  her. 

Of  course,  he  was  going  to  marry  her.  He  was 
going  to  marry  her  at  once ;  as  soon  as  ever' they  could 
get  their  banns  put  up.  It  never  occurred  to  him 
that  delay  could,  in  such  a  case,  be  possible. 

For,  from  the  very  moment  of  that  morning  after, 
in  Ranny's  heart  there  was  an  awful  and  a  sacred 
fear,  a  fear  of  fatherhood.  It  was  the  first  thing 
he  thought  of  as  soon  as  he  could  think  at  all. 

He  wanted  to  put  Violet  right  at  once,  before  a 
suspicion  of  that  possibility  should  have  crossed  her 
mind.  It  would  have  seemed  to  him  abominable  to 
risk  it,  to  wait  on,  as  fellows  did,  on  the  off-chance 
of  a  reprieve,  till  she  came  to  him,  poor  child,  with 
her  whispered  tale.     That,  to  Ranny's  mind,  was 

122 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

where  the  shame  came  in ;  not  in  the  fact,  but  in  the 
compulsion  of  the  fact.  It  was  intolerable  that  any 
man  should  have  the  right  to  say  of  his  own  wife 
that  he  had  been  forced  to  marry  her.  Hence  his 
desperate  haste. 

Violet  couldn't  understand  it.  She  didn't  want  to 
be  married  all  at  once.  She  said  there  was  no  hurry ; 
that  he  couldn't  afford  it;  that  there  was  no  rime 
nor  reason  in  it;  let  them  go  on  as  they  were  a  bit; 
let  them  wait  and  see. 

In  all  this  Ranny  saw  only  a  tenderness  and  a 
desire  to  spare  him.  But  he  stood  firm.  He  was 
not  concerned  with  reasons  and  with  rimes;  he 
wouldn't  wait,  he  wouldn't  see;  and  (this  astonished 
Violet  and  secretly  enraged  her)  he  absolutely  re- 
fused to  go  on  as  they  were. 

For  his  fear  was  always  before  him. 

It  was  no  doubt  to  that  refusal  of  his  that  he  owed 
Violet's  consent. 

His  family  were  appalled  at  the  news  of  Ranny's 
engagement.  It  was  so  unexpected,  so  unlike  him; 
and  how  it  had  happened  Ranny's  mother  couldn't 
think.  She  knew  all  his  comings  and  goings  for  the 
last  year.  His  temperance  and  discretion  had  given 
her  a  sense  of  imperishable  security.  She  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  Ranny  wasn't  one  to  be  in  a  hurry; 
and  now  she  had  been  right  only  in  her  prophecy 
that  when  his  time  came  there  would  be  no  holding 
him. 

And  there  was  no  holding  him. 

They  had  all  tried  it.     They  had  all  been  at  him; 

his  Uncle  Randall  and  his  Aunt  Randall,  and  his 

mother  and  his  father.     For  the  first  time  in  his 

life  Mr.  Ransome  was  roused  to  take  an  interest  in 

9  123 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

his  son,  to  acknowledge  him  as  an  adult,  capable  of 
formidably  adiilt  things.  And  though  they  all  told 
him  that  he  was  too  young  to  know  his  own  mind, 
that  he  was  doing  foolish,  and  behaving  silly,  under 
the  show  of  disapproval  and  disparagement  it  was 
clear  that  they  respected  him,  that  they  realized  his 
manhood,  and  that  he  was  somehow  important  to 
them  as  he  had  never  been  important  in  his  life  before. 

What  was  more,  rage  as  they  would  at  it,  they  were 
impressed  by  Ranny's  firmness,  his  unalterable  and 
imperturbable  determination  to  marry,  and  to  mar- 
ry the  unknown  Violet  Usher. 

And  on  the  main  issue  they  gave  way.  They 
owned  that  it  was  natural  that  the  boy  should  want 
to  marry;  they  saw  that  he  would  have  to  marry 
some  day;  and  his  mother  went  so  far  as  to  say  she 
wanted  him  to  marry  and  to  settle  down.  What 
they  did  not  understand,  and  most  certainly  did  not 
approve  of,  what  they  did  their  best  to  talk  him 
out  of,  was  the  awful  hurry  he  was  in.  There  wasn't 
any  hurry,  they  said,  there  shouldn't  be,  when  he 
was  so  young.  He  couldn't  afford  to  marry  now, 
but  he  could  afford  it  very  well  in  two  years'  time. 
Why,  he  was  only  twenty-three,  and  in  two  years' 
time  he'd  have  got  his  next  rise,  and  he'd  have  saved 
more  money. 

"If  you'd  wait,  Ranny,"  said  his  mother,  "but 
the  two  years."  And  his  father  and  his  uncle  said 
he  must  wait. 

But  Ranny  wouldn't.  He  wouldn't  wait  six 
months.  No,  and  he  wouldn't  wait  three  months 
and  look  about  him.  He  wouldn't  have  waited  three 
weeks  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  banns.  It  was  no 
use  their  talking. 

124 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

They  knew  it.  It  had  been  no  use  their  talking 
seven  years  ago,  when  Ranny  had  refused  to  become 
a  Pharmaceutical  Chemist,  and  had  given  no  rea- 
sons, because  the  only  reason  he  could  give  was  that 
life  would  be  intolerable  if  spent  in  the  perpetual 
presence  of  his  father.  And  he  didn't  give  them  any 
reasons  now. 

Before  the  Ransomes  and  the  Randalls  knew  where 
they  were  the  banns  had  been  put  up  in  Wandsworth 
Parish  Church  and  in  the  Parish  Church  of  Elstree, 
in  Hertfordshire,  and  Violet  had  been  twice  to  tea. 

He  had  looked  for  opposition  down  at  Elstree,  in 
Hertfordshire,  fierce  and  insurmountable  opposition 
from  Mr.  Usher,  that  father  who  had  been  so  harsh 
to  Violet.  It  was  incredible  that  Violet's  father 
would  allow  him  to  marry  her;  it  was  incredible  that 
her  mother  would  allow  it.  He  would  just  have  to 
marry  her  in  spite  of  them. 

But,  as  it  happened,  the  attitude  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Usher  surpassed  probability.  Not  only  were  they 
willing  that  he  should  marry  Violet,  they  desired 
that  he  should  marry  her  at  once.  The  sooner  the 
better,  Mr.  Usher  said.  If  young  Ransome  could 
marry  her  to-morrow  he'd  be  best  pleased.  It  was 
almost  as  if  Mr.  Usher  knew.  But,  of  course,  he 
didn't,  he  couldn't  possibly  know.  He  would  have 
scouted  the  proposition  altogether  if  he  hadn't  had 
three  other  younger  girls  at  home.  It  wasn't, 
Ranny  reflected,  as  if  Violet  was  the  only  one.  So 
far  from  putting  obstacles  in  Ranny 's  way,  Mr. 
Usher  positively  smoothed  it.  Understanding  that 
the  young  man  was  not,  as  you  might  call  it,  rolling, 
he  said  there  wasn't  much  that  they  could  do,  but 
if  at  any  time  a  hamper  of  butter  and  eggs  and  fruit 

125 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

and  vegetables  should  come  in  handy,  they'd  send 
it  along  and  welcome;  he  shouldn't  even  wonder  if, 
in  case  of  necessity,  they  could  rise  to  a  flitch  of 
bacon  or  a  joint  of  pork.  Ranny  was  exquisitely 
grateful;  though,  as  for  the  necessity,  he  didn't  see 
himself  depending  on  his  father-in-law  for  his  food 
supplies.  He  had  no  foreboding  of  the  importance 
that  hamper  from  Hertfordshire  was  to  assume  in 
the  drama  of  his  after  life.  For  the  actual  hour  it 
stood  simply  as  the  measure  of  Mr.  Usher's  approval 
and  good  will. 

He  was  much  moved  when  at  parting  Mrs.  Usher 
pressed  him  by  the  hand  and  asked  him  to  be  gentle 
with  her  girl.  There  was  no  harm,  Mrs.  Usher  said, 
in  poor  Vi.  She  was  a  bit  wilful  and  wildlike;  all 
for  life  was  Violet— but  there,  she'd  be  as  good  as 
gold  when  she  had  a  home  and  a  kind  husband  and 
children  of  her  own.  "Mark  my  words,"  said  Mrs. 
Usher,  "once  the  babies  come  she'll  settle  down." 

And  Ranny  marked  her  words. 

This  unqualified  backing  that  he  got  from  Violet's 
parents  went  far  to  sustain  Ransome  in  the  conflict 
with  his  own.  He  could,  indeed,  have  embraced  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Usher  when,  in  consequence  of  one  Sun- 
day afternoon's  communion  with  these  excellent 
people,  his  mother  declared  herself  more  reconciled 
than  she  had  been  to  the  idea  of  Ranny's  marrying. 
Between  Ranny's  mother  and  Mrs.  Usher  there  was 
established  in  one  Sunday  afternoon  the  peculiar 
sympathy  and  intimacy  of  parents  who  live  su- 
premely in  their  children.  With  her  rosy,  full-blown, 
robust  benevolence,  Mrs.  Usher  was  a  powerful 
pleader.  She  put  it  to  Mrs.  Ransome  that  nothing 
mattered  so  long  as  the  young  people  were  happy. 

126 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

If  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness  the  young  people  failed 
in  the  first  year  or  two  to  make  ends  meet,  surely 
among  them  all  they  could  be  given  a  helping  hand. 
She  was  sure  that  Mr.  Usher  would  do  anything  he 
cotdd,  in  reason.  The  comfortable  woman  declared 
that  she  had  taken  a  fancy  such  as  never  was  to 
Ranny,  so  had  Mr.  Usher,  and  he  wasn't,  she  could 
assure  you,  one  to  take  a  fancy  every  day.  She 
had  never  had  a  boy  (and  it  wasn't  for  not  wanting), 
but  if  she  had  had  one  she'd  have  wished  him  to  be 
just  such  another  as  Ranny.  Ranny,  she  was  cer- 
tain, was  that  clever  he'd  be  sure  to  get  along.  To 
which  argument  Mrs.  Ransome  had  to  yield.  For 
she  was  confronted  with  a  dilemma,  having  either 
to  agree  with  Mrs.  Usher  or  to  maintain  that  her 
Ranny  was  not  clever  enough  to  get  along.  So 
that  before  Sunday  evening  she  found  herself  par- 
taking in  the  large-hearted  tolerance  and  optimism 
of  Violet's  parents,  and  forcing  her  view  upon  Uncle 
and  Aunt  Randall. 

Only  Mr.  Ransome  held  out.  He  refused  to  be 
worked  upon  by  argument.  To  Ranny's  amaze- 
ment, the  old  Humming-bird  bore  himself  in  those 
days  of  stress,  not  with  that  peculiar  savage  obdu- 
racy that  distinguished  his  more  insignificant  hos- 
tilities, but  with  a  certain  sad  and  fine  insistence. 
It  was  as  if  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  aware 
that  he  cared  for  his  son  Randall  and  was  afraid  of 
losing  him.  The  Humming-bird  could  hardly  have 
suffered  more  if  the  issue  had  been  Randall's  death 
and  not  his  marriage.  But  when  the  thing  was  set- 
tled, all  he  said  was,  "I  don't  like  it.  Mother,  I  don't 
like  it." 

How  profoundly  it  had  disturbed  him  was  shown 

127 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

in  this,  that  for  the  three  weeks  before  Ranny's 
wedding-day  he  remained  completely  sober. 


So  precipitate,  so  venturesome  was  Ranny,  that 
in  a  month  from  that  memorable  Sunday  he  found 
himself  married  and  established  in  a  house.  A  house 
that  in  twenty  years'  time  would  become  his  own. 

That  was  incredible,  if  you  like.  Cowardly  cau- 
tion and  niggardly  prudence  had  suggested  rooms; 
two  low-rented,  unfurnished  rooms  such  as  could 
be  found  almost  anywhere  in  Wandsworth;  whereas 
a  house  in  Wandsworth  was  impossible  even  if  you 
sank  as  low  as  Jew's  Row  or  Warple  Way.  For  the 
first  two  days  of  his  engagement  Ranny  had  devoted 
every  moment  of  his  leisure  to  the  drawing  up  and 
balancing  of  imaginary  household  accounts;  with 
the  result  that  he  wondered  how  he  ever  could  have 
regarded  marriage  as  a  formidable  affair.  Why,  in 
the  seven  years  since  he  had  begun  to  earn  money 
he  had  been  steadily  putting  money  by.  Five 
pounds  a  year  in  the  first  three  years,  then  ten,  then 
twenty,  and  a  whole  fifty  in  the  year  and  a  half 
since  he  had  got  his  rise.  With  the  interest  on  his 
savings  and  his  salary,  his  present  income  was  not 
less  than  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds  a  year. 

In  the  night  watches  he  grappled  like  a  man  with 
the  financial  problem.  Scheme  after  scheme  did 
Ranny  throw  on  the  paper  from  his  seething  brain. 
In  the  fifth — no,  the  thoroughly  revised  and  definitive 
seventh,  he  made  out  that,  by  a  trifling  reduction 
in  his  personal  expenditure,  housekeeping  on  the 
two-room  system  would  leave  him  with  a  consider- 
able margin.      (In  the  first  rough  draft — even  in 

128 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

the  second — he  had  allowed  absurdly  too  much  for 
food  and  clothing.)  But,  mind  you,  that  margin 
existed  solely  and  strictly  on  the  two-room  system. 

And  here  Ranny's  difficulties  began;  for  neither 
Violet  nor  her  parents  would  hear  of  their  living  in 
two  rooms.  Violet,  who  had  lived  in  one  room,  said 
that  living  in  two  rooms  was  horrible,  and  Mrs, 
Usher  said  that  Violet  was  right.  It  was  better  for 
all  parties  to  begin  as  you  meant  to  go  on.  Begin 
in  hugger-mugger  and  you  may  end  in  it.  But  if 
he  gave  Violet  a  home  of  her  own  that  was  a  home 
at  the  very  start,  she'd  soon  settle  down  in  it.  He 
needn't  worry  about  the  hard  work  it  meant.  The 
only  thing  that  would  keep  Violet  steadylike  was 
downright  hard  work.  No;  she  didn't  mean  any- 
thing cruel.  They  could  have  a  char  once  a  fort- 
night for  a  scrub-down  and  the  heavy  washing. 

And  Ranny  began  all  over  again  and  made  out 
another  set  of  accounts  on  the  house  basis  and  allow- 
ing for  the  char. 

Impossible;  even  in  Jew's  Row  or  Warple  Way. 
Skimp  as  he  would  in  personal  expenditure,  on  the 
house  basis  the  two  ends  of  Ranny's  income  simply 
wouldn't  meet. 

All  the  same,  he  began  looking  for  the  house. 
The  idea  of  the  house,  the  desire  for  the  house  worked 
in  his  brain  like  a  passion;  the  more  impossible  it 
was,  the  more  ungovernable,  the  more  irresistible 
he  found  it. 

And,  as  he  wandered  forth  on  that  adventure, 
seeking  for  a  house,  one  Saturday  afternoon,  ac- 
companied by  Violet,  Ranny  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  Speculative  Builder. 

Not  very  far  from  Wandsworth,  in  the  green  pas- 

129 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

turelands  of  Southfields,  that  great  magician  was 
already  casting  into  bricks  and  mortar  his  tremendous 
dream — the  city  of  dreams,  the  Paradise  of  Little 
Clerks. 

As  yet  he  had  called  into  being  only  a  few  streets 
of  his  city,  stretching  eastward  and  southward 
into  the  green  plain.  About  it,  southward  and 
eastward,  there  lay  acres  of  naked  earth  upturned, 
torn  and  tamed  to  his  hand.  Be3^ond  were  the  fields 
with  their  tall  elms,  unbroken,  virgin,  mournful  in 
their  last  beauty,  as  they  waited  for  the  ax  and  pick. 

He  had  done  terrible  things  to  the  green  earth, 
that  speculative  builder,  but  you  could  not  say  of 
him  that  he  had  shut  out  the  sky^  The  city  ran  very 
low  upon  the  ground  in  street  after  street  of  diminu- 
tive two  -  storied  houses.  Each  house  was  joined 
on  to  the  next,  porch  to  porch  and  bow  window  to 
bow  window,  alternating  in  an  endless  series,  a 
machine-made  pattern  that  repeated;  a  pattern 
monotonous  and  yet  fantastic  in  its  mingling  of 
purple,  white,  and  red.  Each  had  the  same  little 
mat  of  grass  laid  before  each  bow  window,  the  same 
little  red-tiled  path  from  gate  to  front  door,  the  same 
front  door  decorated  with  elaborate  paneling  and 
panes  of  colored  glass,  the  same  little  machine-made 
iron  gate,  the  same  low  red  wall  and  iron  railing  and 
privet  hedge;  so  indistinguishably,  so  maddeningly 
alike  were  all  these  diminutive  houses.  Each  roof 
had  the  same  purple  slates,  each  roof  tree  the  same 
red  earthwork]  edging  it  like  a  lace;  the  same  red 
tiles  roofed  each  porch  and  faced  each  gable  and  the 
space  between  the  stories.  Only  when  your  eyes 
became  accustomed  to  the  endless  running  pattern 
could  you  trace  it  clearly,  grasp  the  detail,  note  that 

130 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

every  two  bow  windows  were  separated  by  one  rain 
pipe,  every  two  porches  sustained  by  one  pillar,  one 
diminutive  magnificent  purple  pillar,  simulating 
porphyry  and  crowned  with  a  rich  Corinthian  capi- 
tal in  freestone,  the  outline  of  each  porch  being 
picked  out  and  made  clear  and  decisive  with  wood- 
work painted  white.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  did 
you  see  that  the  all  -  important  detail  was  the 
porphyry  pillar,  for  it  was  as  if  every  two  houses 
sprang  from  it  as  two  flowers  from  one  stem. 

Inside,  each  little  house  had  the  same  narrow 
passage  and  steep  stairs;  each  had  the  same  small 
room  at  the  front  and  one  still  smaller  at  the  back; 
the  same  little  scullery  behind  the  same  back  door 
at  the  end  of  the  passage  that  led  off  into  the  garden; 
and  upstairs  the  same  bathroom  over  the  scullery, 
the  same  bedrooms  back  and  front,  and  the  same 
tiny  dressing-room  with  its  little  window  looking 
out  over  the  porch. 

"Quite  enough,  if  we  can  run  to  it,"  Violet  said. 

Violet,  hitherto  somewhat  indifferent  to  the  ad- 
venture, was  caught  by  the  redness  and  whiteness, 
the  brandnewness  and  compactness  of  the  little 
houses;  she  was  seduced  beyond  prudence  by  the 
sham  porphyry  pillar. 

"Quite  enough.  More  than  we  want,  really," 
said  Ranny. 

But  that  was  before  they  had  seen  the  Agent  and 
the  Prospectus. 

They  went  to  the  Agent,  not  because  they  could 
afford  to  take  a  house,  but  just  for  curiosity,  just  to 
say  they'd  been,  just  to  supply  Ranny  with  that  in- 
formation that  he  craved  for,  now  that  the  passion 
of  the  house  hunt  was  upon  him. 

131 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"No  good  going,"  said  Violet.  "The  rent  will  be 
something  awful — why,  that  pillar  alone — " 

And  Ranny,  too,  said  he  was  afraid  the  rent 
wouldn't  be  any  joke. 

But  that  was  precisely  what  the  rent  was — a  joke. 
A  joke  so  good  that  Ranny  took  for  granted  it 
couldn't  possibly  be  true.  Ranny  chaffed  the  Agent ; 
he  told  him  he  was  trying  to  get  at  him;  he  said  you 
didn't  find  houses  with  bathrooms  and  gardens  back 
and  front,  going  for  thirteen  shillings  a  week,  not  in 
this  country. 

And  the  Agent,  who  was  very  busy  and  pre- 
occupied with  making  notes  in  a  large  notebook  at 
his  table,  mumbled  all  among  his  notes  that  that 
was  right.  Of  course  you  didn't  find  'em  unless  you 
knew  where  to  look  for  'em.  And  that  was  not  be- 
cause a  good  'ouse  couldn't  be  made  to  pay  for 
thirteen  shillings  a  week,  if  there  was  capital  and 
enterprise  at  the  back  of  the  Company  that  built  'em. 
This  here  Estate  was  the  only  estate  in  England 
— or  anywhere — where  you  could  pick  up  a  house, 
a  house  built  in  an  up-to-date  style  with  all  the 
modern  improvements,  for  thirteen  shillings  a  week. 

And  Ranny  with  a  fine  shrewdness  posed  him. 
"Yes,  but  what  about  rates  and  taxes?" 

They  were  included. 

And  as  the  Agent  said  it  calmly,  casually  almost, 
making  notes  in  his  notebook  all  the  time,  Ranny  con- 
ceived a  ridiculous  suspicion.  He  fixed  him  with  a 
stare  that  brought  him  up  out  of  his  notebook. 

"Included?     What's  included?" 

"District  rate,"  said  the  Agent,  "poor  rate,  water 
rate,  the  whole  bag  of  tricks  for  thirteen  shil- 
lings." 

132 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

That  took  Ranny's  breath  away.  As  for  Vio- 
let, she  said  instantly  that  they  must  have  the 
house. 

' ' Of  course  you  must  'ave  it,"  said  the  Agent.  He 
might  have  been  an  indulgent  father,  "Why  not? 
Only  thirteen  shillings.  And  I  can  make  you  better 
terms  than  that." 

It  was  then  that  he  produced  the  Prospectus. 

By  this  time,  as  if  stirred  by  Violet's  beauty,  he 
had  thrown  off  the  mask  of  indifference ;  he  was  eager 
and  alert. 

They  spent  twenty  minutes  over  that  Prospectus, 
from  which  it  appeared  that  the  profit  of  the  Estate 
Company,  otherwise  obscure,  came  from  what  the 
Agent  called  the  "ramifications"  of  the  scheme,  from 
the  miles  and  miles  of  houses  they  could  afford  to 
build.  Whereas  Ranny's  profit  was  patent,  it  came 
in  on  the  spot,  and  it  would  come  in  sooner,  of  coturse, 
if  he  could  afford  to  purchase  outright. 

"For  how  much?" 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty." 

But  there  Ranny  put  his  foot  down.  He  said  with 
decision  that  it  couldn't  be  done,  an  answer  for  which 
the  Agent  seemed  prepared. 

Well,  then — he  could  give  him  better  terms  again. 
Could  he  rise  to  twenty-five? 

Ranny  deliberated  and  thought  he  could. 

Well,  then — only  twenty-five  down,  and  the  bal- 
ance weekly. 

The  balance?  It  sounded  formidable,  but  it 
worked  out  at  exactly  tenpence  a  week  less  than  the 
rent  asked  for  (twelve  and  twopence  instead  of 
thirteen  shillings),  and  in  twenty  years'  time — and 
he'd  be  a  young  man  still  then — the  house  would  be 

^33 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

his,  Ranny's,  as  surely  as  if  he  had  purchased  it 
outright  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds. 

It  was  astounding.  Such  a  scheme  could  only 
have  been  dreamed  of  in  the  Paradise  of  Little  Clerks. 

And  yet — and  yet — it  was  impossible. 

Ranny  said  he  didn't  want  to  be  saddled  with  a 
house.  How  did  he  know  whether  he'd  want  that 
particular  house  in  twenty  years'  time? 

Then  he  could  let  or  sell,  the  Agent  said.  It  was 
an  investment  for  his  money.  It  was  property. 
Property  that  was  going  up  and  up.  Even  suppos- 
ing— what  was  laughable — that  he  failed  to  sell — he 
would  be  paying  for  his  property — paying  for  house 
and  land — less  weekly  than  if  he  rented  it.  Ordi- 
narily you  paid  your  rent  out  of  income  or  invest- 
ments. He  would  be  investing  every  time  he  paid 
his  rent.  People  made  these  difficulties  because 
they  hadn't  grasped  our  system — or  for  other 
reasons.  Maybe  (the  Agent  fired  at  him  a  glance 
of  divination)  he  was  calculating  the  expense  of 
furnishing  ? 

He  was. 

Nothing  simpler.  Why — you  furnished  on  the 
hire-purchase  system. 

' '  Not  much, ' '  said  Ranny.  He  knew  all  about  the 
hire-purchase  system. 

So  he  backed  out  of  it.  He  backed  out  of  his 
Paradise,  out  of  his  dream.  But  to  save  his  face  he 
said  he  would  think  it  over  and  let  the  Agent  know 
on  Monday. 

And  the  Agent  smiled.  He  said  he  could  take  his 
time.  There  was  no  hurry.  The  house  wouldn't 
run  away.  And  he  gave  Ranny  a  copy  of  the  Pros- 
pectus with  a  beautiful  picture  of  the  house  on  it. 

134 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

All  the  way  home  Violet  reproached  him.  It  was 
a  shame,  she  said,  that  he  couldn't  afford  the 
furniture.  There  was  nothing  in  the  world  she 
wanted  so  much  as  that  beautiful  little  house.  She 
hung  on  his  arm  and  pleaded.  Would  he  ever  be 
able  to  afford  the  furniture?  And  Ranny  said  he 
thought  he  could  afford  it  in  two  years.  Meanwhile 
the  house  wouldn't  run  away.  It  would  wait  two 
years. 

And  as  if  it  had  been  waiting  for  him,  motionless, 
from  all  eternity,  the  house,  with  its  allurements  and 
solicitations,  caught  him  before  six  o'clock  on  the 
evening  of  that  very  day. 

Ranny's  mother,  as  if  she  had  known  what  the 
house  was  after,  played  into  its  hands.  Attracted 
by  the  Prospectus  and  the  picture,  she  walked  over 
to  Southiields  directly  after  tea.  She  looked  at  the 
house  and  fell  in  love  with  it  at  first  sight.  It  had 
taken  her  no  time  to  grasp  the  system.  You 
couldn't  get  a  house  like  that  in  Wandsworth,  not 
for  fifty  or  fifty-five,  not  counting  rates  and  taxes. 
It  was  a  sin,  she  said,  to  throw  away  the  chance. 
As  for  furnishing,  she  had  seen  to  that.  In  fact, 
Ranny  without  knowing  it  had  seen  to  it  himself. 
For  the  last  five  years  he  had  kept  his  father's  books, 
conceiving  that  herein  he  was  fulfilling  an  essentially 
unproductive  filial  duty.  And  all  the  time  his 
mother,  with  a  fine  sense  of  justice,  had  been  putting 
by  for  him  the  remuneration  that  he  should  have 
had.  Out  of  his  seven  years'  weekly  payments  for 
board  and  lodging  she  had  saved  no  less  than  a 
hundred  pounds.  Thus  she  had  removed  the  one 
insurmountable  obstacle  from  Ranny's  path. 

It  might  have  been  better  for  Ranny  if  she  hadn't. 
135 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Because,  on  any  scheme,  on  the  lowest  scale  of  ex- 
penditure, with  the  most  dexterous  manipulation  of 
accounts,  the  house  left  him  without  a  margin.  But 
who  would  think  of  margins  when  he  knew  that  he 
would  grow  steadily  year  by  year  into  a  landlord, 
the  owner  of  house  property,  and  that,  if  you  would 
believe  it,  for  less  rent  than  if  he  didn't  own  it? 
So  miraculous  was  the  power  of  twenty-five  pounds 
down. 

As  if  he  thought  the  house  could,  after  all,  run  away 
from  him,  he  bicycled  to  Southfields  with  a  letter  for 
the  Agent,  closing  with  his  offer  that  very  night. 

And  by  a  special  appointment  with  the  Agent, 
made  as  a  concession  to  his  peculiar  circumstances, 
he  and  Violet  went  over  before  ten  o'clock  on  Sunday 
morning  to  choose  the  house. 

For  after  all  they  hadn't  chosen  it  yet. 

It  was  difficult  to  choose  among  the  houses  where 
all  were  exactly  alike;  but  you  could  choose  among 
the  streets,  for  some  were  planted  with  young  limes 
and  some  with  plane  trees,  and  one.  Acacia  Avenue, 
with  acacias.  Ransome  liked  the  strange  tufted 
acacias.  "Puts  me  in  mind  of  palm  trees,"  he  said. 
And  finally  his  fancy  and  Violet's  was  taken  by  one 
house,  Number  Forty-seven  Acacia  Avenue,  for  it 
stood  just  opposite  a  young  tree  with  a  particularly 
luxuriant  tuft.  It  was  really  as  if  the  tree  belonged 
to  Number  Forty-seven. 

Then  they  discovered  that,  outwardly  uniform, 
these  little  houses  had  a  subtle  variety  within.  All, 
or  nearly  all,  had  different  wall  papers.  In  Number 
Forty-seven  there  were  pink  roses  in  the  front  sitting- 
room  and  blue  roses  in  the  back,  and,  upstairs, 
quiet,    graceful  patterns    of  love  knots   or  trellis 

136 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

work.  The  love  knots,  blue  with  little  pink  rose- 
buds, in  the  front  room  {their  room)  caught  them. 
They  were  agreed  in  favor  of  Number  Forty-seven. 

Then — it  was  on  the  following  Saturday — they 
quarreled.  The  Agent  had  written  inquiring 
whether  Mr.  Ransome  wished  to  give  his  residence  a 
distinctive  name.  He  didn't  wish  it.  But  Violet 
did.  She  wished  to  give  his  residence  the  distinctive 
and  distinguished  name  of  Granville.  She  said  she 
couldn't  abide  a  number,  while  Ranny  said  he 
couldn't  stand  a  name.  Especially  a  silly  name  like 
Granville.  He  said  that  if  he  lived  in  a  house  called 
Granville  it  would  make  him  feel  a  silly  ass.  And 
Violet  said  he  was  a  silly  ass  already  to  feel  Hke  that 
about  it. 

Then  Violet  cried.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
seen  her  cry,  and  it  distressed  him  horribly.  He  held 
out  against  his  pity  all  Saturday  evening.  But  on 
Sunday  morning,  when  he  thought  of  Violet,  he 
relented.  He  said  he'd  changed  his  mind  about  that 
old  family  seat.     Violet  could  call  it  what  she  liked. 

She  called  it  Granville. 

The  name,  in  large  white  letters,  appeared  pres- 
ently in  the  fanlight  above  the  door. 


At  Woolridge's,  on  Monday  morning  in  his  dinner- 
hour,  Mr.  Ransome  of  the  counting-house  strolled 
with  great  dignity  and  honor  through  seven  distinct 
departments  as  a  customer.  He  earmarked,  for  a 
beginning,  and  subject  always  to  the  approval  of  a 
Lady,  three  distinct  suites  of  furniture  which  he  pro- 
posed, most  certainly,  to  purchase  outright.  None 
of  your  hire-purchase  systems  for  Mr.   Ransome. 

137 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

On  Tuesday,  accompanied  by  two  ladies,  he  again 
appeared.  Between  two  violent  blushes,  and  with 
an  air  which  would  have  been  light  and  offhand  if  it 
could,  Mr.  Ransome  presented  to  his  friend,  the 
foreman,  his  mother — and  Miss  Usher.  And  as  if 
the  foreman  had  not  sufficiently  divined  her,  Miss 
Usher's  averted  shoulders,  burning  cheeks,  and  low- 
ered eyelids  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  forget 
that  she  was  the  Lady  whose  approval  was  the  ulti- 
mate-condition of  the  deal. 

After  an  immensity  of  time,  in  which  Mr.  Ran- 
some's  dinner  hour  was  swallowed  up  and  lost,  Miss 
Usher  decided  finally  on  the  suite  in  stained  walnut, 
upholstered  handsomely  in  plush,  with  a  pattern 
which  Ransome  imagined  to  be  Oriental,  a  pattern 
of  indefinite  design  in  a  yellowish  drab  and  heavy 
blue  upon  a  ground  of  crimson.  A  splendid  suite. 
The  overmantle  alone  was  worth  the  nineteen  pounds 
nineteen  shillings  he  paid  for  it. 

The  furnishing  of  the  chamber  of  the  love  knots 
was  arranged  for,  decorously,  between  Mrs.  Ran- 
some and  the  foreman.  Over  every  item,  from  the 
wardrobe  in  honey-colored  maple  picked  out  with 
black,  to  the  china  "set"  with  crimson  reeds  and 
warblers  on  it,  Ranny's  friend,  the  foreman,  com- 
muned with  Ranny's  mother  in  an  intimate  aside; 
and  Ranny's  mother,  in  another  aside  of  even  more 
accentuated  propriety,  appealed  to  flaming  cheeks 
and  lowered  eyelids  and  a  mouth  that  gave  an  almost 
inarticulate  assent.  The  eyelids  refused  to  open 
on  Ranny  where  he  stood,  turning  his  back  on  the 
women,  while  he  shook  dubiously  the  footrail  of 
the  iron  double  bedstead  to  test  the  joints ;  and  the 
mouth  refused  to  speak  when  Ranny  was  heard 

138 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

complaining  that  the  bedstead  was  about  three  sizes 
too  large  for  the  room.  Eyes  and  mouth  recovered 
only  downstairs  among  the  carpets,  where  they  again 
asserted  themselves  by  insisting  on  a  Kidderminster 
with  a  slender  pattern  of  blue  on  a  drab  ground; 
though  Ranny's  mother  had  advised  the  black  and 
crimson.  Ranny's  mother  contended  almost  with 
passion  that  drab  showed  every  stain.  But  Violet 
woiild  have  that  carpet  and  no  other. 

And  when  by  struggles  and  by  prodigies  of 
strength  on  Ranny's  part,  and  on  the  part  of  Wool- 
ridge's  men,  by  every  kind  of  physical  persuasion, 
and  by  coaxing,  by  strategy  and  guile,  all  that  furni- 
ture from  seven  distinct  departments  was  at  last 
squeezed  into  Granville — well,  there  was  hardly 
room  to  turn  round.  Granville,  that  would  have 
held  its  own  under  any  treatment  less  severe,  was 
overpowered  by  Woolridge's. 


"What's  wrong  with  it?"  said  poor  Ranny,  as 
they  stood  together  one_  Saturday  evening  and  sur- 
veyed their  front  sitting-room.  He  couldn't  see 
anything  wrong  with  it  himself. 

They  had  been  married  that  morning.  Ranny 
had  had  to  bring  his  bride  straight  from  her  father's 
house  to  Granville.  There  could  be  no  going  away 
for  the  honeymoon.  Woolridge's  wouldn't  let  Ranny 
go  till  the  sales  were  over. 

It  was  only  a  minute  ago  that  he  had  had  his  arm 
round  Violet's  waist,  and  that  her  face  had  pressed 
his.  It  seemed  ages.  And  suddenly  Violet  had 
shown  sulkiness  and  irritation.  He  couldn't  under- 
stand it.  He  couldn't  understand  how  she  could 
10  139 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

have  chosen  their  first  hour  of  solitude  for  finding 
fault  with  the  arrangement  of  the  room.  He  him- 
self had  been  distinctly  pleased;  proud,  too,  of  hav- 
ing furnished  throughout  from  Woolridge's,  in  a 
style  that  would  last,  and  at  a  double  discount  which 
he  owed  to  his  payment  in  ready  money,  and  to  his 
connection  with  the  firm. 

Now  he  faced  a  young  woman  who  had  no  under- 
standing of  his  pride  and  no  pity. 

"It's  all  wrong,"  said  she.  "And  I'll  tell  you  for 
why.  It's  too  heavy.  You  should  have  furnished 
in  bamboo." 

"Bamboo?  Sham-poo!  It  wouldn't  last,*'  said 
Ranny. 

"Who  wants  the  silly  things  to  last?"  said  Violet. 

"Come  to  that,  you  never  let  on  it  was  bamboo 
you  wanted." 

"How  could  I  know  what  I  wanted?  You  rushed 
me  so,  you  never  gave  me  time  to  think." 

"Oh, I  say,"  said  Ranny,  "what  a  tiresome  kiddy!" 

With  that  he  kissed  her,  and  between  the  kisses 
he  asked  her,  with  delirious  rapidity:  "Who  gave 
you  a  drawing-room  suite?  Who  gave  you  a  nice 
house?  Who  let  you  call  it  Granville?"  But  he 
knew.  Nobody,  indeed,  knew  better  than  Ranny 
how  tight  a  squeeze  it  was;  and  what  a  horrible 
misfit  for  Granville. 

Then  suddenly  something  in  the  idea  of  Granville 
tickled  him. 

"Whether  is  it,"  he  inquired,  "that  the  drawing- 
room  suite  is  too  large  for  Granville  ?  Or  that  Gran- 
ville is  too  small  for  the  drawing-room  suite?" 

"It's  too  small  for  anything.  And  I  think  you 
might  have  waited." 

140 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Waited?" 

"Yes.  Why  shouldn't  we  have  gone  on  as  we 
were?" 

He  couldn't  criticize  her  in  a  moment  that  was 
still  so  blessed;  otherwise  it  might  have  struck  him 
that  Granville  was  certainly  too  small  for  Violet's 
voice. 

But  it  struck  Ranny's  mother  as  she  heard  it  from 
the  bedroom  overhead,  where  she  labored,  spreading 
with  her  own  hands  the  sheets  for  her  son's  mar- 
riage bed. 

"Why  shouldn't  we?"  Violet's  voice  insisted. 

"Because  we  couldn't." 

He  drew  her  to  him.  Her  eyes  closed  and  their 
faces  met,  flame  to  flame. 

"Poor  little  thing,"  he  said,  "Is  its  head^hot? 
And  is  it  tired?" 

"Ranny,"  she  said,  "is  your  mother  still  up- 
stairs?" 

"She'll  be  gone  in  a  minute,"  he  whispered, 
thickly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

VIOLET'S  connection  with  Starker's  ceased  on 
the  day  of  her  marriage.  Violet  herself  would 
have  continued  it;  she  had  meant  to  continue  it; 
she  had  fought  the  point  passionately  with  Ranny; 
but  Ranny  had  put  his  foot  down  with  a  firmness 
that  subdued  her.  She  had  said,  "Oh,  well — ^just 
as  you  like.  If  you  think  you  can  get  along  without 
my  pound  a  week."  And  Ranny,  with  considerable 
warmth,  had  answered  back  that  he  hoped  to  Heaven 
he  could.  And  then,  again  and  again,  with  infinite 
patience  and  gentleness,  he  explained  that  the 
privileges  of  acquiring  Granville  entailed  duties 
and  responsibilities  incompatible  with  her  attend- 
ance in  Starker's  MiUinery  Saloons.  He  pointed 
out  that  if  they  were  dependent  upon  Granville, 
Granville  was  also  dependent  upon  them.  Granville, 
she  could  see  for  herself,  was  helpless — pathetic  he 
was. 

And  Violet  would  laugh.  In  those  first  days  he 
coiild  always  make  her  laugh  by  playing  with  the 
personality  they  had  created.  She  would  come  out 
into  the  roadway  on  an  August  morning,  as  Ranny 
was  going  off  to  Woolridge's,  and  they  would  look 
at  the  absurd  little  house  where  it  stood  winking 
and  blinking  in  the  sun ;  and  morning  after  morning 
Ranny  kept  it  up. 

142 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Look  at  him,"  he  would  say,  "sittin'  there  be- 
hind his  Httle  railin's,  sayin'  nothing,  just  waitin' 
for  you  to  look  after  him." 

And  Violet  would  own  that  Granville  was  pathetic. 
But  she  triumphed.  "You  wouldn't  feel  about  him 
that  way,"  she  said,  "if  he  was  only  Number  Forty- 
seven." 

Just  at  first  there  was  no  doubt  that  Violet  was 
fond  of  Granville.  Just  at  first  it  was  as  if  she 
couldn't  do  too  much  for  him,  to  keep  him  spick  and 
span,  clean  from  top  to  toe,  and  always  with  a  happy 
polish.  Just  at  first  he  was,  as  Ranny  said,  "such 
a  pretty  little  chap  with  his  funny  purple  pillar,  and 
his  little  peepers  winkin'  at  you  kind  of  playful,  half 
the  time."  For  the  sun  shone  on  him  all  that  August 
honeymoon.  It  streamed  down  the  Avenue  between 
the  rows  of  young  acacias  whose  green  tufts  with 
that  light  on  them  put  Ranny  more  and  more  in 
mind  of  palm  trees.  He  was  more  and  more  in  love 
with  the  brand-new  Paradise.  He  expressed  all 
the  charm  of  Southfields,  of  Acacia  Avenue,  when  he 
said  it  was  "so  open,  and  so  up-to-date."  It  made 
Wandsworth  High  Street  look  old  and  tortuous  and 
grimy  by  comparison. 

But  Ranny  was  more  and  more  in  love  with  Violet ; 
so  much  in  love  that  he  could  never  have  expressed 
her  charm.  And  yet  he  couldn't  hide  the  effect  it 
had  on  him.  The  neighbors  knew  it  was  their 
honeymoon.  They  smiled  when  they  saw  Ranny 
and  Violet  come  out  of  Granville  every  morning 
wheeling  the  bicycle  between  them;  they  smiled 
when  Violet  ran  beside  him  as  he  mounted;  most  of 
all  they  smiled  when  Ranny,  riding  slowly,  turned 
right  round  in  his  saddle  and  the  two  young  lunatics 

143 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

waved  and  signaled  to  each  other  as  if  they  would 
never  have  done. 

No  doubt  that  in  those  first  days  Violet  was  in 
love  with  Ranny.  No  doubt  that  she  looked  after 
him  as  much  as  Violet  could  look  after  anything; 
every  bit  as  much  as  she  looked  after  Granville. 

But  the  hard  fact  was  that  Granville  and  all  his 
furniture  required  a  great  deal  of  looking  after. 

Ranny  too.  To  begin  with,  he  had  what  Violet 
called  an  awful  appetite.  Which  meant  that  a  joint 
and  a  loaf  went  twice  as  fast  as  Violet  had  calculated ; 
so  that  she  found  herself  driven  to  pan  bread  and 
tinned  meat  in  self-defense.  She  had  found  that  for 
some  reason  Ranny  didn't  eat  so  much  of  these. 
What  with  his  walking  and  his  "biking,"  and  his 
sitting,  Ranny 's  activities  wore  through  his  ordinary 
every-day  clothes  at  a  frightful  rate.  And  then  his 
zephyrs  and  his  flannels!  Ranny's  mother  had 
always  seen  to  them  herself.  She  had  washed  them 
with  her  own  hands.  Ranny's  wife  sent  them  to 
the  laundress,  not  too  often.  So  that  Ranny,  the 
splendid,  immaculate  Ranny  she  had  fallen  in  love 
with,  appeared  after  his  marriage  a  shade  less  im- 
maculate, less  splendid  than  he  had  been  before. 

It  was  not,  of  course,  that  Violet  couldn't  wash 
things.  For,  as  Ranny's  mother  said  to  Mrs. 
Randall,  You  should  see  her  own  white  blouses. 
There  was  washing  for  you!  Mrs.  Ransome  owned 
quite  handsomely  that  the  girl  "paid  for  it."  By 
which  she  meant  that  Violet's  appearance  justified 
the  extravagant  amount  of  time  she  spent  on  it. 
And  it  was  not  that  Granville  demanded  from  her 
the  downright  hard  work  Mrs.  Usher  had  considered 
salutary  in  her  case.     Ransome  had  seen  to  that. 

144 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  had  not  agreed  with  Mrs.  Usher.  If  he  couldn't 
keep  a  servant,  he  could,  and  did,  engage  a  char- 
woman for  all  the  heavy  work.  It  was  not  that  the 
light  work  Violet  did  was  unbecoming  to  her.  On 
the  contrary,  Violet  bloomed  in  Granville.  She  had 
had  to  own  that  the  unaccustomed  exercise  was  a 
good  thing,  giving  a  fineness  and  a  firmness  to  out- 
lines that  had  been  a  shade  too  lax.  It  was  that  you 
can  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing  when  you  have 
it  every  day;  too  much  of  light  washing  and  light 
cooking,  of  the  Hghtest  of  light  sweeping,  of  dusting, 
and  the  making  of  even  one  double  bed. 

Ransome  did  his  best  to  spare  her.  He  thought 
that  she  was  tired  of  looking  after  Granville,  when  in 
reality  she  was  only  bored.  As  for  her  fits  of  sul- 
lenness  and  irritation,  he  had  been  initiated  into  their 
mystery  on  his  wedding-day.  The  sullenness,  the 
irritation  had  ceased  so  unmysteriously  that  Ranny 
in  his  matrimonial  wisdom  was  left  in  no  doubt  as 
to  its  cause.  There  was  even  sweetness  in  it,  for  it 
proved  that,  however  tired  Violet  might  be  of  things 
in  general,  she  was  by  no  means  tired  of  him. 

Ransome  himself  was  never  tired  in  those  days, 
and  never,  never  bored.  Granville  as  Number 
Forty-seven  might  have  palled  upon  him;  Granville 
as  a  personality  assumed  for  him  an  everlasting 
charm.  It  was  astonishing  how  right  Violet  had 
been  there.  Granville,  after  all,  hadn't  made  him 
feel  a  silly  ass.  It  kept  him  in  a  state  of  being 
tickled.  It  tickled  Wauchope  and  Fred  Booty. 
They  met  him  with  "What  price  Granville?"  They 
called  him  by  turns  Baron  Granville  of  Granville, 
and  the  Marquis  or  the  Duke  of  Granville.  They 
"ragged"  while  Ranny  lunged  at  them  and  said, 

145 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Cheese  it";  until  one  day  Booty,  suddenly  serious, 
asked,  why  on  earth,  old  chappie,  he  had  called  it 
Granville?  When  Ranny  replied  significantly,  "I 
didn't."     Then  they  stopped. 

But  Granville  tickled  him  only,  as  it  were,  on  one 
side.  The  other  side  of  Ransome  was  insensitive. 
His  undeveloped  taste  was  not  aware  of  the  architec- 
tural absurdity  of  Granville,  with  its  perky  gable 
and  its  sham  porphyry  pillar.  He  could  look  at  it, 
and  yet  think  of  it  quite  gravely  and  with  a  secret 
tenderness  as  his  home,  and  more  than  all  as  the  home 
he  had  given  Violet,  the  blessed  roof  and  walls  that 
sheltered  her. 

And  all  the  time,  in  secret,  it  was  taking  hold  of 
him,  the  delicious  thought  of  property,  of  possession, 
of  Granville  as  a  thing  that  in  twenty  years'  time 
would  be  his  own.  Brooding  over  Granville,  Ranny's 
brain  became  fertile  in  ideas.  He  was  always  calling 
out  to  Violet : ' '  Vikes !  I ' ve  got  another  idea !  When 
he  gets  all  dirty  next  year  I'll  paint  him  green. 
That  '11  give  him  a  distinctive  character,  if  you  like." 
Or,  "How  would  it  be  if  I  was  to  cover  him  up  all 
over  with  creepers,  back  and  front?"  Or,  "Some 
day  I'll  whip  off  those  tiles  and  clap  him  on  a  bal- 
cony. He'd  look  O.K.  if  he  only  had  a  balcony 
over  his  porch." 

His  porch  was  the  one  thing  wrong  with  Granville, 
because  it  wasn't  absolutely  and  entirely  his.  The 
porphyry  pillar  for  instance;  he  had  only  half  a 
share  in  it ;  the  other  half  belonged  to  Number  Forty- 
five;  and  you  couldn't  rightly  tell  where  Number 
Forty-five's  share  ended  and  his  began.  Still  it 
wasn't  as  if  anybody  ever  wanted  to  swarm  up  the 
pillar.     But  there  was  a  party  wall,  and  that  was  a 

146 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

serious  thing.  It  was  so  low  that  a  child  could 
clear  it  at  a  stride.  And  when  the  postman  and 
errand  boys  and  tradespeople  went  their  rounds, 
instead  of  going  down  Forty-five's  front  walk  and  up 
Granville's,  they  all  straddled  insolently  over  the 
party  wall.  Ransome  said  it  was  "like  their  bally 
cheek,"  by  which  he  meant  that  it  was  an  insult 
to  the  privacy  and  dignity  of  Granville.  And  he 
stopped  it  by  setting  a  high  box,  planted  with  a  per- 
fect Httle  hedge  of  euonymus,  on  Granville's  half  of 
the  top  of  the  party  wall.  And  he  and  Violet  hid 
behind  the  window  curtains  all  one  Saturday  after- 
noon, and  watched  "the  poor  johnnies  being  sold." 
There  was  no  end  to  the  fun  he  was  getting  out  of 
Granville.  Every  evening  he  hurried  home  from 
Woolridge's  that  he  might  put  in  an  hour's  work  in 
his  garden  before  supper.  He  was  never  tired  of 
digging  and  planting  and  watering  the  long  strip 
at  the  back,  or  of  clipping  the  privet  hedge  that 
screened  his  green  mat  at  the  front.  Only  Violet 
got  tired  of  seeing  him  doing  it.  More  than  once, 
when  Ranny's  innocent  back  was  turned  she  watched 
it,  scowling.  She  was  so  far  "gone  on  him"  that  she 
couldn't  bear  to  see  him  taken  up  with  Granville. 
She  hated  the  very  flowers  as  his  hands  caressed  them. 
She  hated  the  little  tree  he  had  planted  at  the  bottom 
of  the  back  garden.  For  the  little  tree  had  kept  him 
out  one  night  till  nearly  ten  o'clock,  after  Violet  had 
expressly  told  him  that  she  was  going  to  bed  at  nine. 


Violet  was  not  tired;  but  she  was  tired  of  Gran- 
ville. 
After  six  weeks  of  it  she  began  to  long  secretly 

147 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

for  Starker's  Millinery  Saloons.  In  the  saloon  you 
walked  looking  beautiful  through  a  flowery  and  a 
feathery  grove  of  hats.  You  had  nothing  to  do  but 
to  try  hats  on  and  to  sell  them,  and  each  sale  was  a 
personal  triumph  for  the  seller.  Violet  knew  she 
could  sell  more  hats  than  any  other  of  the  girls  at 
Starker's ;  she  knew  she  had  a  pretty  way  of  putting 
on  a  hat,  of  turning  slowly  round  and  round  in  it  to 
show  the  side  and  crown,  of  standing  motionless 
before  a  customer  while  her  blue  eyes  made  play 
that  advertised  the  irresistible  fascinations  of  the 
brim.  At  Starker's  she  went  from  one  triumph  to 
another. 

For  gentlemen  came  to  the  Millinery  Saloons, 
gentlemen  whose  looks  said  plainly  that  they  found 
her  prettier  than  the  ladies  that  they  brought; 
gentlemen  who  sometimes  came  again  alone,  who  for 
two  words  would  buy  a  hat  and  give  it  you.  At 
Starker's  there  was  always  a  chance  of  something 
happening. 

At  Granville  nothing  happened,  nothing  ever  could 
happen.  Granville,  when  it  didn't  keep  you  doing 
things,  gave  you  nothing  to  look  at,  nothing  to  think 
about,  nothing  to  take  an  interest  in,  and  nobody  to 
take  an  interest  in  you.  It  left  you  sitting  in  a  lonely 
window  looking  out  into  a  lonely  Avenue,  an  Avenue 
where  nobody  (nobody  to  speak  of)  ever  came.  And 
not  only  did  Violet  long  for  Starker's  Millinery 
Saloons,  she  longed  for  Oxford  Street,  she  longed  for 
the  adventurous  setting  forth  in  bus  or  tram,  with 
the  feeling  that  anything  might  happen  before  the 
day  was  over;  she  longed  for  the  still  more  adven- 
turous stepping  out  of  the  little  door  in  Starker's 
shutter  into  the  amorously  hovering  crowd,  for  the 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

furtive  looking  round  with  eyes  all  bright  for  the 
encounter;  above  all  she  longed  for  somebody,  no 
matter  who,  to  come,  somebody  to  meet  her  some- 
where and  take  her  to  the  Empire. 

And  nobody  but  Ranny  ever  came. 

Sometimes,  of  course,  he  took  her  to  Earl's  Court 
or  the  Coliseum;  but  going  there  with  Ranny  wasn't 
any  fun.  Ranny's  idea  of  fun  was  not  Earl's  Court 
or  the  Coliseum;  it  was  to  mount  a  bicycle  and  ride 
from  that  lonely  place.  Acacia  Avenue,  into  places 
that  were  more  lonely  still.  Sometimes  they  would 
have  tea  at  a  confectioner's,  but  what  Ranny  loved 
best  was  to  put  bits  of  cake  or  chocolate  in  his 
pocket,  and  to  eat  them  in  utter  loneliness  sitting  in  a 
field.  In  short,  Ranny  loved  to  take  her  into  places 
where  there  was  nothing  for  them  to  do,  nothing 
for  them  to  look  at,  and  nobody  to  look  at  them. 
If  Violet  hadn't  been  gone  on  Ranny  she  couldn't 
have  endured  it  for  a  day. 


Then  in  the  late  autumn  the  bicycle  rides  ceased. 
Violet  was  overtaken,  first,  with  a  dreadful  lassitude, 
then  with  a  helplessness  as  great  as  Granville's. 
And  with  it  a  sullenness  that  had  no  sweetness  in  it, 
for  Violet  defied  her  fate.  And  now  when  she  raised 
her  old  cry  again,  "I  can't  see  why  I  shouldn't  have 
gone  on  at  Starker's  like  I  did,"  instead  of  saying 
"Somebody's  got  to  look  after  Granville"  Ranny 
answered,  "This  is  why." 

All  through  the  winter  the  charwoman  came  every 
day.  And  one  midnight,  in  the  first  week  of  March, 
nineteen-five,  Violet's  child  was  bom.  It  was  a 
daughter. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ON  that  night  Ransome  acquired  a  dreadful 
knowledge.  Granville  was  not  a  place  where 
you  could  be  bom  with  any  decency.  It  seemed  to 
participate  horribly  in  Violet's  agony,  to  throb  with 
her  tortures  and  recoils,  to  fill  itself  shuddering  with 
her  cries,  such  cries  as  Ransome  had  never  heard  or 
conceived,  that  he  would  have  believed  impossible. 
They  were  savage,  inhuman ;  the  cries  and  groans  of 
some  outraged  animal;  there  was  menace  in  them 
and  rebellion,  terror,  and  an  implacable  resentment. 
And  as  Ransome  heard  them  his  heart  was  torn 
with  pity  and  with  remorse  too,  as  though  Violet's 
agony  accused  him.  He  could  not  get  rid  of  the  idea 
that  he  had  wronged  her;  an  idea  that  he  somehow 
felt  he  would  never  have  had  if  the  baby  had  been 
born  a  month  later.  He  swore  that  she  should  never 
be  put  to  this  torture  a  second  time;  that  if  God 
would  only  spare  her  he  would  never,  never  quarrel 
with  her,  never  say  an  unkind  word  to  her  again. 
He  couldn't  exactly  recall  any  unkind  words;  so  he 
nourished  his  anguish  on  the  thought  of  the  words 
he  had  very  nearly  said,  also  of  the  words  he  hadn't 
said,  and  of  the  things  he  hadn't  done  for  her. 
Casting  about  for  these,  he  found  that  he  hadn't 
taken  her  to  Earl's  Court  or  the  Coliseum  half  as 
often  as  he  might.  He  had  been  wrapped  up  in  him- 
self, that's  what  he  had  been;   a  selfish,  low  brute. 

ISO 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  felt  that  there  was  nothing  he  wouldn't  do  for 
Vi,  if  only  God  would  spare  her. 

But  God  wouldn't.  He  wasn't  sparing  her  now. 
God  had  proved  that  he  was  capable  of  anything. 
It  was  incredible  to  Ransome  that  Violet  should  live 
through  that  night.  He  wouldn't  believe  his  mother 
and  the  doctor  and  the  nurse  when  they  told  him 
that  everything  was  as  it  should  be.  He  knew  that 
they  were  lying;  they  must  be;  it  wasn't  possible 
that  any  woman  would  go  through  that  and  live. 

All  this  Ransome  thought  as  he  sat  in  the  front 
parlor  under  the  little  creaking  room.  He  would 
sit  there  where  he  could  hear  every  sound,  where  it 
was  almost  as  if  he  was  by  her  bed  and  looking  on. 

And  he  wouldn't  believe  it  was  all  over  when  at 
midnight  they  came  and  told  him,  and  when  he  saw 
Violet  lying  in  her  mortal  apathy,  and  when  he 
kissed  her  poor  drawn  face.  He  couldn't  believe 
that  Violet's  face  wouldn't  look  like  that  forever, 
that  it  wouldn't  keep  forever  its  dreadful  memory, 
the  resentment  that  smoldered  still  imder  its  white 
apathy. 


For  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  that  was  Violet's 
attitude — resentment,  as  of  some  wrong  that  had 
been  done  her.  He  didn't  wonder  at  it.  He  re- 
sented the  whole  business  himself. 

It  was  a  pity,  though,  that  she  didn't  take  more 
kindly  to  the  baby,  seeing  that,  after  all,  the  poor 
little  thing  was  innocent,  it  didn't  know  what  it  had 
done. 

Ranny  would  not  have  permitted  himself  this  re- 
flection but  that  a  whole  fortnight  had  passed  and 

151 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Violet  had  not  died.  Ranny's  fatherhood  was  per- 
turbed by  Violet's  indifference  to  the  baby.  He 
spoke  of  it  to  the  doctor,  and  suggested  weakness  as 
a  possible  explanation. 

"Weakness?"  The  doctor  stared  at  him  and 
smiled  faintly.     "What  weakness?" 

"I  mean,"  said  Ranny,  "after  all  she's  gone 
through." 

The  doctor  put  his  hand  on  Ranny's  shoulder. 
"My  dear  boy,  if  half  the  women  went  through  as 
little  and  came  out  of  it  as  well — " 

Ranny  flared  up, 

"I  like  that — your  trying  to  make  out  she  didn't 
suffer.     Tortures  weren't  in  it.     How'd  you  like — " 

But  the  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"We  can't  alter  Nature,  my  dear  boy.  But  I'll  tell 
you  for  your  comfort — in  all  my  experience  I've 
never  known  a  woman  have  an  easier  time." 

"D'you  mean — d'you  mean — she'll  get  over  it?" 

"Get  over  it?  She's  got  over  it  already.  She's 
as  strong  as  a  horse." 

I  He  tiu-ned  from  Ranny  with  a  swing  of  his  coat 
tails  that  but  feebly  expressed  his  decision  and  his 
impatience.  He  paused  before  the  closed  doorway 
for  a  final  word. 

"There's  no  earthly  reason  why  she  shouldn't 
niirse  that  baby." 

"What's  that,  sir?"  said  Ranny,  arrested. 

"She  must  nurse  it.  It's  better  for  her.  It's 
better  for  the  child.  If  I  were  her  husband  I'd 
insist  on  it — insist.  If  she  tells  you  she  can't  do  it, 
don't  believe  her." 

"I  say,  I  didn't  know  there'd  been  any  trouble 
of  that  sort." 

152 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"That's  all  the  trouble  there's  been,"  the  doctor 
said.  And  he  entered  on  a  brief  and  popular  ex- 
position of  the  subject,  from  which  Ranny  gathered 
that  Violet  was  flying  in  the  face  of  that  Providence 
that  Nature  was.  Superbly  and  exceptionally  en- 
dowed and  fitted  for  her  end,  Violet  had  refused  the 
task  of  nursing-mother. 

"Why?" 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders,  implying  that 
anything  so  abstruse  as  young  Mrs.  Ransome's  rea- 
sons was  beyond  him. 

He  left  Ranny  struggling  with  the  question:  If 
it  isn't  weakness — what  is  it? 


For  Violet  persisted  in  her  strange  refusal,  in  spite 
of  Ranny's  remonstrances,  his  entreaties,  his  appeals. 

"It's  been  trouble  enough,"  she  said,  "without 
that." 

She  was  sitting  up  in  her  chair  before  the  bedroom 
fire.  They  were  alone.  The  nurse  was  downstairs 
at  her  supper.  The  Baby  lay  between  them  in  its 
cradle,  wrapped  in  a  white  shawl.  Ranny  was 
watching  it. 

"I  should  have  thought,"  he  said,  at  last,  "yo^ 
couldn't  have  borne  to  let  the  little  thing — " 

But  she  cut  that  short.  "Little  thing!  It's  all 
very  well  for  you.  You  haven't  been  through  what 
I  have;   if  you  had,  p'raps  you'd  feel  as  I  do." 

The  Baby  stirred  in  its  shawl.  Its  eyes  were  still 
shut,  but  its  lips  began  to  curl  open  with  a  queer 
waving,  writhing  movement. 

"What  does  it  mean,"  said  Ranny,  "when  it 
makes  that  funny  face?" 

153 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"How  should  I  know?"  said  Violet. 

Little  sounds,  utterly  helpless  and  inarticulate, 
came  now  from  the  cradle. 

"What  nice  noises  it  makes,"  said  Ranny.  He 
was  stooping  by  the  cradle,  touching  the  Baby's 
soft  cheek  with  his  finger. 

"Look  at  it,"  he  said. 

But  Violet  would  not  look. 

The  Baby's  face  puckered  and  grew  red.  Its 
body  writhed  and  stiffened.  It  broke  into  a  cry 
that  frightened  him. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  said  Ranny,  "do  you  think  I've  hurt 
it?     Hadn't  you  better  take  it  up  or  something?" 

But  Violet  did  not  take  it  up.  He  looked  at  her 
in  astonishment.  She  looked  at  him,  and  her  face 
was   sullen. 

The  Baby  screamed  high. 

Ranny  put  his  arm  under  the  small  warm  thing 
and  lifted  it  up  out  of  its  cradle.  He  had  some  idea 
of  laying  it  on  its  mother's  lap. 

The  Baby  stopped  screaming. 

Ranny  held  it,  with  the  nape  of  its  absurdly  loose 
and  heavy  head  supported  on  his  left  wrist,  and  its 
little  soft  hips  pressed  into  the  hollow  of  his  right 
hand.  And  as  he  held  it  he  was  troubled  with  a 
compassion  and  a  tenderness  unlike  anything  he  had 
ever  known  before.  For  the  Baby's  helplessness  was 
unlike  anything  he  had  ever  known. 

And  its  innocence!  Why,  its  hand,  its  incredibly 
tiny  hand,  had  found  his  breast  and  was  moving 
there  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  had  been  its  mother. 
And  to  Ranny's  amazement,  with  the  touch,  a  queer 
little  pricking  pang  went  through  his  breast,  as  if  a 
thin  blood  vessel  had  suddenly  burst  there. 

154 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"D'you  see  that,  Vi?  Its  little  hand?  What  a 
rum  thing  a  baby  is!" 

But  even  that  didn't  move  Violet,  or  turn  her  from 
her  purpose,  though  she  smiled. 


From  that  moment  Ranny's  paternal  instinct 
raised  its  head  again.  It  had  been  crushed  for  the 
time  being  in  his  revolt  against  Violet's  sufferings. 
But  now  it  was  indescribable,  the  feeHng  he  had  for 
his  little  daughter  Dorothy.  (Violet,  since  they  had 
to  call  the  Baby  something,  had  called  it  Dorothy.) 
Meanwhile,  he  hid  his  feeHng.  He  maintained  a 
perverse,  a  dubious,  a  critical  silence  while  his  mother 
and  his  mother-in-law  and  his  Aunt  Randall  and  the 
nurse  overflowed  in  praise  which,  if  the  Baby  had 
understood  them,  must  have  turned  its  head. 

Ranny  was  reassured  when  the  other  women  were 
about  Mm;  because  then  Violet  did  show  signs  of 
caring  for  the  Baby,  if  only  to  keep  them  in  their 
places  and  remind  them  that  it  was  her  property 
and  not  theirs.  She  would  take  it  out  of  their  arms, 
and  smooth  its  hair  and  its  clothes,  and  kiss  it  sig- 
nificantly, scowling  sullen-sweet,  as  if  their  embraces 
had  rumpled  it  and  done  it  harm.  For  as  long  as 
the  nurse  was  there  to  look  after  it,  the  Baby's  ador- 
able person  was  kept  in  a  daintiness  and  sweetness 
so  exquisite  that  it  was  no  wonder  if  Ranny's  mother, 
in  her  transports,  called  it  "Little  Rose,"  and 
"Honeypot,"  and  "Fairy  Flower";  when  all  that 
Ranny  said  was,  "It's  a  mercy  it's  got  hair." 

u 


CHAPTER  XVI 

JUST  at  first  the  miracle  of  the  Baby  drew  a 
crowd  of  pilgrims  from  Wandsworth  to  Acacia 
Avenue.     Granville  had  become  a  shrine. 

People  Ransome  hardly  knew  and  didn't  care  for, 
friends  of  his  mother  and  of  his  Aunt  Randall,  came 
over  of  a  Sunday  afternoon  to  see  the  Baby.  And 
Wauchope  and  Buist  and  Tyser  of  the  Polytechnic 
came;  and  old  Wauchope  got  excited  and  clapped 
Ranny  on  the  back  and  said:  "Go  it,  Granville! 
Steady  does  it.  Here's  to  you  and  many  more  of 
them."  And  Booty  brought  Maudie  Hollis,  who 
was  not  too  proud  and  too  beautiful  to  go  down  on 
her  knees  before  the  Baby,  while  young  Fred  stood 
aloof  in  awe,  and  grew  sanguine  to  the  roots  of  the 
hair  that  rose,  tipping  his  forehead  like  a  monu- 
mental flame. 

As  for  the  Humming-bird,  he  was  amazing.  He 
insisted  on  the  Baby  being  christened  in  Wandsworth 
Parish  Church  (marvelous,  he  was,  throughout  the 
ceremony) ;  and  he  actually  appeared  at  Granville 
afterward  with  the  christening  party. 


That  Sunday  afternoon  Ransome  saw  Winny 
Dymond  for  the  first  time  since  his  marriage.  He 
saw  her,  he  could  swear  that  he  saw  her,  standing 
with  Maudie  Hollis  in  a  seat  near  the  door.     He  was 

iS6 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

certainly  aware  of  a  little  figure  in  a  long  dark  coat, 
and  of  a  face  startlingly  like  Winny's,  and  of  eyes 
that  could  only  have  been  hers,  profound  and  seri- 
ous eyes,  fixed  upon  the  Baby.  But  when  he  looked 
for  her  afterward  as  the  christening  party  passed 
out  of  the  church,  led  by  Mrs.  Randall  carrying  the 
Baby,  Winny  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  No  doubt 
the  christening  party  scared  her. 

He  thought  of  Winny  several  times  that  week. 
He  wondered  what  she  had  been  doing  with  herself 
all  those  months,  and  why  it  was  she  hadn't  come 
to  see  them. 

And  the  very  next  Saturday,  as  Ransome,  on  his 
return  from  Woolridge's,  was  wheeling  his  bicycle 
with  difficulty  through  the  little  gate,  the  door  of 
Granville  opened,  and  Winny  came  out. 

Ransome  was  so  surprised  that  he  let  the  bicycle 
go,  and  it  went  down  with  a  horrid  clatter,  hitting 
him  a  malicious  blow  on  the  ankle  as  it  fell.  He  was 
so  surprised  that,  instead  of  saying  what  a  man 
naturally  would  say  in  the  circumstances,  he  said, 
"Winky!" 

It  would  have  been  like  her  either  to  have  laughed 
at  his  clumsiness  or  to  have  flown  to  help  him,  but 
Winky  wasn't  like  herself.  She  stood  in  an  improb- 
able silence  and  gravity  and  stared  at  him,  while 
her  lips  moved  as  if  she  drew  back  her  breath, 
and  her  feet  as  if  she  would  have  drawn  herself 
back,  but  for  the  door  she  had  closed  behind 
her;  so  inspired  was  she  with  the  instinct  of  re- 
treat. 

Her  scare  (for  plainly  she  was  scared)  lasted  only 
for  a  second;  only  till  he  spoke  again  and  came 
forward. 

IS7 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"So  it's  little  Winky,  is  it?  Well,  I  never!"  He 
laughed  for  pure  pleasure. 

She  smiled  faintly  and  came  off  her  doorstep  to 
take  the  hand  he  held  out  to  her. 

"I  came,"  she  said,  "to  see  Violet  and  the  Baby." 

At  that  he  smiled  also,  half  furtively.  "And  have 
you  seen  them?" 

"Oh  yes.  I've  been  sitting  with  Violet  for  the 
last  hour.     I  must  be  going  now." 

"Going?     Why,  what's  the  hurry?" 

"Well—" 

' '  Well — "  He  tried  to  sound  the  little  word  as  she 
did.  He  remembered  it,  the  funny  little  word  that 
summed  up  her  evasiveness,  her  reluctance,  her 
absurdity. 

She  was  still  standing  by  the  doorstep,  stroking 
the  sham  porphyry  pillar  with  her  childish  hand,  as 
if  she  wanted  to  see  what  it  was  made  of. 

"It  isn't  reelly  marble,"  Ransome  said. 

She  gazed  at  him,  wondering.     "What  isn't?" 

"That  pillar." 

"Oh — I  wasn't  thinking — "  She  took  her  hand 
away  suddenly  as  if  the  pillar  had  been  a  snake  and 
stung  her.     Then  she  looked  at  it. 

"How  beautiful  they  make  them!"  She  paused, 
absolutely  grave.  Then,  "Oh,  Ranny,  you  have  got 
a  nice  house,"  she  said. 

"Have  you  seen  it?" 

"No.  Not  all  oi  it."  She  spoke  as  if  it  had  been 
a  palace. 

"Come  in  and  have  a  look  round,"  said  Ranny. 

"Well—" 

There  was  distinct  yielding  in  her  voice  this  time. 
Winny  was  half  caught. 

158 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"I  do  love  looking  at  houses." 

He  lured  her  in.  She  came  over  the  threshold  as 
if  on  some  delicious  yet  perilous  adventure,  with 
eyes  that  shone  and  with  two  little  teeth  that  bit 
down  her  lower  Hp;  a  way  she  had  when  she  at- 
tempted anything  difficult  and  at  the  same  time 
exciting.  He  showed  her  everything  except  the  room 
she  had  seen  already,  the  room  with  the  love  knots 
and  the  rosebuds  where  Violet  and  the  Baby  were. 
Winny  admired  everything  with  joy  and  yet  with 
reverence,  from  the  splendid  overmantel  in  the  front 
sitting-room  to  the  hot-water  tap  in  the  bathroom. 

"My  word,"  Winny  said,  "what  I'd  give  to  have 
a  bath  like  that!" 

"I  say,"  said  Ransome,  suddenly  moved,  "you 
take  a  lot  more  interest  in  it  all  than  Virelet  does." 

"She's  used  to  it,"  said  Winny.  "Besides,  I 
always  take  an  interest  in  other  people's  houses." 

She  pondered.  They  were  both  leaning  out  of  the 
back  bedroom  window  now,  looking  down  into  the 
garden. 

"Think  of  all  those  little  empty  houses,  Ranny, 
and  the  people  that  '11  come  and  live  in  them.  It 
seems  somehow  so  beautiful  their  coming  and  finding 
them  and  getting  things  for  them;  and  at  the  same 
time  it  seems  somehow  sad."     She  paused. 

' '  I  don't  mean  that  youWe  sad,  Ranny.  You  know 
what  I  mean." 

He  did.  He  had  felt  it  too,  the  beauty  and  the 
sadness,  but  he  couldn't  have  put  it  into  words.  It 
was  the  sadness  and  the  beauty  of  life. 

It  was  queer,  he  thought,  how  Winny  felt  as  he  did 
about  most  things  in  life. 

But  Winny's  joy  over  the  house  was  nothing  to 
159 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

her  joy  over  the  garden,  the  garden  that  Ranny  had 
made,  and  over  the  Httle  tree  that  he  had  planted. 
It  was  the  most  beautiful  and  wonderful  tree  in  the 
whole  world.  For  in  her  eyes  everything  that  Ran- 
ny did  and  that  he  made  was  beautiful  and  wonder- 
ful. It  could  not  be  otherwise :  because  she  loved 
him. 

And  oh!  she  had  the  most  intense  appreciation  of 
Granville,  of  the  name  and  of  the  personality.  She 
took  it  all  in.     Trust  Winny. 

And  as  they  stood  in  the  gateway  at  parting,  he 
told  her  of  the  system  by  which  in  twenty,  no,  in  not 
much  more  than  nineteen  years'  time  Granville 
would  be  his  own. 

"Why,  Ranny,  it  sounds  almost  too  good  to  be 
true!" 

"I  know  it  does.  That's  why  sometimes  I  think 
I'll  be  had  over  it  yet.  I  say  to  myself  Granville 
looks  jolly  innocent,  but  he'll  score  off  me,  you  bet, 
before  he's  done." 

"He  does  look  innocent,"  said  Winny. 

He  did.     (And  how  Winny  took  it  in !) 

''That's  what  tickles  me,"  said  Ranny.  "Some- 
times, when  I  come  home  of  a  evening  and  find  him 
still  sittin'  there,  cockin'  his  little  eyes  as  if  he  was 
goin'  to  have  a  game  with  me,  it  comes  over  me  that 
he's  up  to  something,  and — what  do  you  think  I 
do?" 

"I  don't  know,  Ranny."  She  almost  whispered 
it. 

"I  burst  out  laughin'  in  his  face." 

"How  can  you?"  She  was  treating  Granville  as 
he  did,  exactly  as  if  it  was  alive. 

"Well — ^you  see  how  comical  he  is." 
1 60 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Yes.  I  see  it."  (Of  course  she  saw  it.)  "Still 
— there's  something  about  him  all  the  same." 

There  was  something  about  everything  that  was 
Ranny's,  something  that  touched  her,  something  that 
made  her  love  it,  because  she  loved  him.  Winny 
couldn't  have  burst  out  laughing  in  its  face. 

"I'm  glad  I  came,"  she  said.  "Because  now  I 
can  see  you." 

He  misunderstood.  "I  hope  you  will,  Winky — 
very  often." 

"I  mean — see  you  when  you're  not  there." 

He  looked  away.  Something  in  her  voice  moved 
him  unspeakably.  For  one  moment  he  saw  into  the 
heart  of  her — placid,  profound,  and  pure. 

He  was  going  down  the  Avenue  with  her  now. 
For  in  that  moment  he  had  felt  the  beauty  of  her 
and  the  sadness.  He  couldn't  bear  to  think  of  her 
"seeing  herself  home,"  going  back  alone  to  that  little 
room  in  St.  Ann's  Terrace,  where  some  day,  when 
Maudie  married,  she  would  be  left  alone.  The 
least  he  could  do  was  to  walk  with  her  a  little  way. 

"I  say.  Win,"  he  said,  presently,  "why  ever  have- 
n't you  come  before?"     He  really  wondered. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then,  "I  don't  know, 
Ranny,"  she  said,  simply. 

They  had  come  to  the  end  of  Acacia  Avenue 
before  either  of  them  spoke  again.  Then  Ranny 
conceived  something  brilliant. 

"What  did  you  think  of  the  Baby?"  he  said. 

She  fairly  shone  at  him,  and  at  the  same  time  she 
was  earnest  and  very  grave. 

"Oh,  Ranny,"  she  said,  "it's  the  most  beautiful 
baby  that  ever  was — Isn't  it?" 

Ranny  smiled  superbly. 
i6i 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"They  tell  me  so;  but  I  dunno.     Is  it?" 

"Of  course  it  is." 

She  had  turned,  parting  from  him  at  last,  and  she 
flung  that  at  him  as  she  walked  backward,  smiling 
in  his  face. 

"Well — I  must  be  going  back  to  Vi,"  he  said. 

And  he  went  back. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IN  April  Ransome  looked  confidently  for  Violet  to 
1  "settle  down."  Mrs.  Usher  had  assured  him 
again  and  again  that  the  next  month  would  bring 
the  blessed  change. 

"She'll  be  all  right,"  said  Mrs.  Usher,  "when  the 
nurse  goes  and  she  has  you  and  Baby  to  herself." 

And  at  first  it  seemed  as  though  Violet's  mother 
knew  what  she  was  talking  about. 

April  put  an  end  to  their  separation.  April,  like 
a  second  honeymoon,  made  them  again  bride  and 
bridegroom  to  each  other.  Nature,  whom  Ranny 
had  blasphemed  and  upbraided,  triumphed  and  was 
justified  in  Violet's  beauty,  that  bloomed  again  and 
yet  was  changed  to  something  almost  fine,  almost 
clear;  as  if  its  coarse  strain  had  been  purged  from 
it  by  maternity.  Something  fine  and  clear  in  Ranny 
responded  to  the  change. 

And,  as  in  their  first  honeymoon,  Violet's  irrita- 
tion ceased.  She  was  sullen-sweet,  with  a  kind  of 
brooding  magic  in  her  ways.  She  drew  him  with 
eyes  whose  glamour  was  tenderness  under  lowering 
brows;  she  bound  him  with  arms  that,  for  all  their 
incredible  softness,  had  a  vehemence  that  held  him 
as  if  it  would  never  let  him  go;  and  in  the  cleaving 
of  her  mouth  to  his  there  was  a  savage  will  that 
pressed  as  if  it  would  have  crushed  between  them 
all  memory  and  premonition.     This  was  somewhat 

163 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

disastrous  to  fineness  and  clearness,  and  Ransome's 
no  doubt  would  have  perished  but  for  the  persistence 
with  which  he  held  Violet  sacred  as  the  mother  of 
his  child. 

Her  attitude  to  the  child  was  still  incomprehensible 
to  him,  but  he  was  beginning  to  accept  it,  perceiving 
that  it  had  some  obscure  foundation  in  her  tempera- 
ment. There  were  moments  when  he  fell  back  on 
his  old  superstition  (exploded  by  the  doctor)  and 
told  himself  that  Violet  was  one  of  those  who  suffer 
profoundly  from  the  shock  of  childbirth.  And  in 
that  case  she  would  get  over  it  in  time. 


But  time  went  on,  and  Violet  showed  no  signs  of 
getting  over  it,  no  signs,  at  any  rate,  of  settling  down. 
On  the  contrary,  before  very  long  she  slipped  into 
her  old  slack  ways.  With  all  her  fierce  vitality  it 
was  as  if  she  had  no  strength  to  turn  her  hand  to 
anything.  The  charwoman  came  every  week.  (That 
was  no  more  than  Ransome  was  prepared  for.) 

The  charwoman  worked  heavily  against  odds, 
doing  all  she  knew.  And  yet,  in  the  searching  light 
of  summer,  it  was  plain,  as  Ransome  pointed  out, 
that  Granville  was  undergoing  a  slow  deteriora- 
tion. 

First  of  all,  the  woodwork  cracked  and  the  paint 
came  off  in  blisters,  and  the  dirt  that  got  into  the 
seams  and  holes  and  places  stayed  there.  Granville 
was  visited  with  a  plague  of  fine  dust.  It  settled  on 
everything;  it  penetrated;  it  worked  its  way  in 
everywhere.  Violet,  going  round  languidly  with  a 
silly  feather  brush,  made  no  headway  against  the 
pest. 

164 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"For  Heaven's  sake  get  it  out,"  said  Ransome, 
"or  we  shall  all  be  swallowed  up  in  it  and  die." 

"Get  it  out  yourself,  if  you  can,"  said  Violet. 
"You'll  soon  see  how  you  like  my  job." 

She  was  developing  more  and  more  a  power  of 
acrimonious  and  unanswerable  retort. 

"Can't  you  let  it  be,  Ranny?"  (He  had  found 
the  feather  brush.) 

"No.     It's  spoiling  all  my  O.K.  cuffs  and  collars." 

"I  can't  help  your  cuifs  and  collars.  What  do 
you  suppose  it's  doing  to  mine?" 

Ransome  went  on  flourishing  the  feather  brush. 
Presently  he  began  to  cough  and  sneeze. 

"If  you  wouldn't  rouse  it,"  said  Violet,  "it  would 
do  less  harm." 

He  admitted  that  the  dust  was  terrible  when  roused. 

So  the  dust  got  the  better  of  them.  Ransome  was 
not  the  sort  of  man  who  could  go  about  poking  his 
nose  into  cupboards  and  places,  or  flourish  a  feather 
brush  with  a  serious  intention.  He  was  even  more 
incapable  of  badgering  a  beautiful  girl  whom  he  had 
already  wronged  sufficiently,  who  declared  herself 
to  be  sufficiently  handicapped  by  Baby. 

Since  the  Baby  came  he  had  abstained  from  com- 
ment on  his  wife's  shortcomings;  though  in  the 
matter  of  meals,  for  instance,  she  had  begim  to  add 
unpunctuality  to  incompetence.  Ransome  would 
have  considered  himself  "pretty  flabby"  if  he 
couldn't  rough  it.  But  he  found  himself  looking 
forward  more  and  more  to  the  days  they  spent  at 
Wandsworth,  those  rare  but  extensive  Sundays  that 
covered  the  hours  of  two  square  meals,  not  counting 
tea-time.  Then  there  was  the  hamper  from  Hert- 
fordshire.    To  be  sure,  in  common  decency,  it  could 

i6s 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

only  be  regarded  as  a  lucky  windfall,  but  provi- 
dentially the  windfall  was  beginning  to  occur  at  fre- 
quent intervals.  The  Ushers  must  have  had  an 
inkling.  Everybody  who  came  to  the  house  could 
perceive  the  awful  deterioration  in  the  food. 

The  next  thing  Ransome  noticed  was  a  faint,  a 
very  faint,  but  still  perceptible  deterioration  in  him- 
self. And  by  "himself"  Ranny  meant  in  general 
his  physique  and  in  particular  his  muscles.  They 
were  not  flabby — Heaven  forbid! — but  they  were 
not  the  superb  muscles  that  they  had  been.  All  last 
year  he  had  attended  the  Gymnasium  religiously 
once  a  week,  just  to  keep  in  form.  This  year  his 
wife  was  having  a  bad  time,  and  it  wasn't  fair  to 
leave  her  too  much  by  herself.  Instead  of  going  to 
the  Polytechnic  he  practised  with  his  dumb-bells 
in  the  back  bedroom.  And  now  and  then  after 
Violet  had  gone  to  bed  he  sprinted.  There  was  no 
need  to  worry  about  himself. 

What  Ranny  worried  about  was  the  steady,  slow 
deterioration  in  the  Baby. 

It  began  in  the  third  month  of  its  existence.  Up 
till  then  the  Baby  hadn't  suffered.  It  was  naturally 
healthy,  and  even  Violet  owned  that  it  was  good. 
By  which  she  meant  that  it  slept  a  great  deal.  And 
for  a  whole  month  after  she  had  it  to  herself  she  had 
made  tremendous  efforts  to  keep  it  as  the  nurse  had 
kept  it.  She  saw  (for  she  was  not  unintelligent)  that 
trouble  taken  now  would  save  endless  trouble  in  the 
long  run,  in  dealing  with  its  inconceivably  tender 
person.  As  for  its  food,  Violet  had  been  firm  about 
the  main  point,  but  it  was  no  strain  to  order  once  for 
all  from  the  dairy  an  expensive  kind  of  milk  which 
Ranny  paid  for. 

1 66 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Only,  whereas  Niirse  had  made  a  Grand  Toilette 
for  Baby  every  other  day,  insisting  that  the  little 
frocks  and  vests  and  flannels  should  be  put  on  all 
clean  together,  Violet  observed  a  longer  and  longer 
interval.  On  Sundays,  when  Ranny's  mother  saw 
her,  Baby  was  still  a  Little  Rose,  a  Honeypot,  and  a 
Fairy  Flower.  On  other  days,  when  tiresome  people 
dropped  in  unexpectedly,  Violet  hid  everything  under 
a  clean  overall  when  she  could  lay  her  hands  on  one. 

But  from  Ranny  she  hid  nothing;  and  presently 
it  came  upon  him  with  a  shock  that  to  caress  and 
handle  Baby  was  not  the  same  perfect  ecstasy  that 
it  had  been.  It  puzzled  him  at  first ;  then  it  enraged 
him;   and  at  last  he  spoke  to  Violet. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "if  you  want  that  child  to 
be  a  Little  Rose  and  a  Honeypot  and  a  Fairy  Flower, 
you'll  have  to  keep  it  cleaner.  That's  got  to  be 
done,  d'you  see,  whatever 's  left." 

Violet  sulked  for  twenty-four  hoiu-s  after  that  out- 
burst, but  for  a  whole  week  afterward  he  noticed 
that  Baby  was  distinctly  cleaner. 

But  whether  it  was  clean  or  whether  it  was  dirty, 
Ranny  loved  it,  and  became  more  and  more  absorbed 
in  it. 

And  with  Ranny's  absorption  Violet's  irritability 
returned  and  increased,  and  sullenness  set  in  for 
days  at  a  time  without  intermission. 

"This,"  said  Ranny,  "is  the  joie  de  veeve.'' 


Three  more  months  passed. 

For  Ransome  every  day  brought  a  going  forth  and 
a  returning,  a  mixing  with  the  world,  with  men  and 
with  affairs,  the  affairs  of  Woolridge's.     His  married 

167 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

life  had  done  one  thing  for  him.  It  taught  him  to 
appreciate  his  life  at  Woolridge's,  and  to  discern 
variety  where  variety  had  not  been  too  apparent. 
There  was  the  change  from  Granville  to  Woolridge's, 
and  from  Woolridge's  to  Granville.  There  was  the 
dinner  hour  when  he  rose  from  his  desk  and  went 
out  to  an  A  B  C  shop  with  Booty  or  some  other  man. 
Sometimes  the  other  man  had  ideas,  views  of  life 
and  so  forth,  that  interested  Ransome;  if  he  hadn't, 
at  any  rate  he  was  a  man.  That  is  to  say,  he  didn't 
sulk  or  nag  or  snap  at  you;  or  nip  the  words  out  of 
your  mouth  and  twist  them;  he  wasn't  perverse;  he 
didn't  do  things  that  passed  your  comprehension, 
and  he  let  you  be.  For  Ransome  the  world  of  men 
brought  respite.  Even  at  home,  in  that  world  of 
women,  of  one  woman,  when  things  (he  meant  the 
one  woman)  were  too  much  for  him,  menacing  his 
as  yet  invincible  hilarity,  he  could  turn  his  back  on 
them,  and  work  in  the  garden  or  play  with  the  Baby. 
Or  he  could  leave  them  for  a  while  and  mount  his 
bicycle  and  ride  out  into  the  open  country.  For 
Ransome  life  still  had  interests  and  surprises. 

For  the  Baby  surprise  and  interest  lurked  in  the 
feeblest  of  its  sensations;  every  day  brought,  for  the 
Baby,  excitement,  discovery,  and  adventure.  And 
then,  it  had  attached  itself  to  Ransome.  It  behaved 
as  if  it  had  some  secret  understanding  with  its  father. 
Its  sense  of  comedy,  Hke  Ranny's,  seemed  imperish- 
able. It  would  respond  explosively  to  devices  so 
old,  so  stale,  so  worn  by  repetition,  that  the  wonder 
was  they  didn't  alienate  it,  or  disgust.  The  rapid 
approach  and  withdrawal  of  Ranny's  hand,  his  face 
suddenly  hidden  behind  its  pinafore  and  exposed, 
still  more  suddenly,  with  a  cry  of  "Peep-bo!"  its 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

own  inspired  seizing  of  R.anny's  hair,  would  move  it 
to  delirious  laughter  or  silent  strangling  frenzy.  And 
when  Ranny  wasn't  there,  and  nobody  took  any 
notice  of  it,  it  had  its  own  solitary  and  piysterious 
ecstasies  of  mirth. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  Ranny  and  the  Baby. 

But  for  Violet  it  was  one  interminable,  intolerable 
monotony.  Always  the  same  tiresome  things  to 
be  done  for  Granville  and  for  the  Baby  and  for 
Ranny,  when  she  did  them;  and  when  she  didn't 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  still,  with  no  out- 
look, no  interest,  no  surprise,  no  possibility  of  variety 
and  adventure. 

Now  and  then  they  would  leave  the  Baby  at 
Wandsworth  with  its  grandmother,  and  Ranny  would 
take  her  to  Earl's  Court  or  the  Coliseum.  But  these 
bright  hours  were  rare,  and  when  they  passed  the  gloom 
they  had  made  visible  was  gloomier.  And  brooding 
over  it,  she  suffered  a  sense  of  irremediable  wrong. 

Nothing  to  look  forward  to  but  bedtime ;  the  slow, 
soft-footed  ascent  to  the  room  with  the  walls  of  love 
knots  and  rosebuds,  Ranny  carrying  the  Baby. 
Nothing  to  look  forward  to  but  the  dark  when  the 
Baby  slept  and  Ranny  (who  would  hang  over  it 
till  the  last  minute)  couldn't  see  the  Baby  any  more, 
the  dark  when  he  would  turn  to  her  with  the  old 
passion  and  the  old  caresses. 

And  even  into  the  darkness  and  into  their  passion 
there  had  come  a  difference,  subtle,  estranging,  and 
profound.  Between  them  there  remained  that  sense 
of  irremediable  wrong.  In  Violet  it  roused  resent- 
ment and  in  Ransome  a  tender  yet  austere  respon- 
sibihty.     For  he  blamed  himself  for  it. 

Violet  blamed  the  Baby. 

i6g 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  in  those  three  months  Winny  Dymond  came 
and  went.  By  some  fatality  she  contrived  to  call 
either  on  a  Sunday  when  they  had  all  gone  to 
Wandsworth  or  on  a  Saturday  when  Ransome  was 
not  there.  Once  or  twice  in  summer,  when  he  was 
kept  at  the  counting-house  during  stock-taking  or 
the  sales  (for  Woolridge's  season  of  high  pressure 
came  months  earlier  than  Starker's),  Winny  had 
dropped  in  toward  supper-time,  when  Violet  had 
asked  her  to  keep  her  company.  But  she  always 
left  before  Ranny  could  get  back,  because  Violet  told 
her  (as  if  she  didn't  know  it)  that  Ranny  would  be 
too  tired  to  see  her  home. 

One  Saturday  evening  in  August  he  had  come  in 
about  nine  o'clock  after  a  turn  on  Wimbledon  Com- 
mon. Granville  with  its  gate,  its  windows,  and 
all  its  doors  flung  open,  had  a  scared,  abandoned 
look.  A  strange  sound  came  from  Granville,  the 
sound  of  a  low  singing  from  upstairs,  from — yes,  it 
was  from  the  front  bedroom. 

He  went  through  the  lower  rooms  and  out  into 
the  garden.  Nobody  was  there.  The  Baby's  cradle 
and  pram  were  empty.  And  still  from  upstairs  the 
voice  came  singing.  In  all  his  knowledge  of  her  he 
had  never  known  Violet  to  sing. 

He  went  upstairs.  The  door  of  the  front  bedroom 
was  closed  as  if  on  a  mystery.  He  knocked  and  opened 
it  tentatively,  like  a  man  who  respected  mysteries. 
The  voice  had  left  off  singing,  and  was  saying  some- 
thing.    It  was  a  voice  he  knew,  but  not  Violet's  voice. 

It  was  saying,  with  a  lilt  that  was  almost  a  song, 
"Upsy  daisy,  upsy  daisy,  den!" 

There  was  a  pause  and  then  "Diddums!"  and  a 
sound  of  kissing. 

170 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  found  Winny  Dymond  sitting  there,  alone, 
with  the  Baby  on  her  knee.  He  caught  her  in  the  act 
of  slipping  a  nightgown  over  its  little  naked  body, 
that  was  all  rosy  from  its  bath.  The  place  was  full 
of  the  fragrance  of  soap  and  violet  powder  and  clean 
linen. 

"Hello,  Winky!"  he  said.  "What  a  lark!"  He 
stood  fascinated. 

But  Winky  with  a  baby  in  her  lap  was  not  capable 
of  levity.  It  struck  him  that  the  Baby  was  serious, 
too. 

"Violet's  just  this  minute  gone  out  for  a  breath 
of  air,"  she  said.  "I'm  putting  Baby  to  bed  for  her. 
She's  been  very  fretful  all  day." 

"Who?     Virelet?" 

"No,  Baby.     (Did  it  then!)." 

"How's  that?"  (He  sat  perched  on  the  footrail 
of  the  bedstead,  for  there  was  not  much  room  to 
spare,  what  with  the  wardrobe  and  Winny  and  the 
bath.) 

"I  don't  know.     But  I  fancy  she  isn't  very  well." 

The  Baby  confirmed  her  judgment  by  a  cry  of 
anguish. 

"I  say,  what's  wrong?" 

"I  think,"  said  Winny,  "it's  the  hot  weather  and 
the  bottles." 

"The  what?" 

"The  bottles.  They're  nasty  things,  and  you 
can't  be  too  careful  with  them." 

His  face  was  inscrutable, 

"Do  you  think,"  she  said,  "you  could  find  me  a 
nice  clean  one  somewhere?     I've  got  two  in  soak." 

He  smiled  in  spite  of  himself  at  the  gravity,  the 
•importance  of  her  air. 

12  171 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  went  off  to  look  all  over  the  house  for  the  nice 
clean  one  that  Winny  was  certain  must  be  somewhere. 
In  a  basin  by  the  open  window  of  the  bedroom  he 
found  the  two  horrors  that  she  had  put  there  to 
soak. 

"What's  wrong  with  these?"  said  he. 

For  one  moment  it  was  as  if  Winny  were  indignant. 

"You  put  your  nose  to  them  and  you'll  soon  see 
what's  wrong." 

He  did  and  saw.  It  was  not  for  nothing  that  he 
had  been  born  over  a  chemist's  shop  in  Wandsworth 
High  Street.  He  had  heard  his  father  and  his 
mother  (and  Mercier  even)  comment  on  the  sluts 
whose  sluttishness  sent  up  the  death  rate  of  the 
infant  population. 

He  kept  his  back  to  Winny  as  he  stood  there  by 
the  window. 

"The  bi — !"  A  bad  word,  a  word  that  he  would 
not  for  worlds  have  uttered  in  a  woman's  presence, 
half  formed  itself  on  Ranny's  lips.  He  turned. 
"Well,"  he  said,  aloud,  "I  am —  Let's  throw  the 
filthy  things  away.     They're  poisonous." 

"No,  I'll  see  to  it.     Just  bring  me  another." 

"There  isn't  another." 

She  gazed  at  him  with  eyes  where  incredulity 
struggled  with  terror  that  responded  to  his  fierceness. 
She  didn't  believe,  and  she  didn't  want  Ranny  to 
believe  that  Violet  could  be  so  awful. 

"There  must  be,  Ranny,  somewhere." 

"There  isn't,  I  tell  you." 

"Then  run  round  to  the  chemist's  and  get  three." 

"All  right,  but  it's  no  good.  The  kid's  been 
poisoned.  Goodness  knows  how  long  it's  been  going 
on." 

172 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

She  looked  at  him,  reproachfully,  this  time. 

"No,  no;  it's  only  the  hot  weather  come  on 
sudden." 

The  Baby  set  up  a  sorrowful  wail  as  if  it  knew 
better  and  protested  against  Winny's  softening  of 
the  facts. 

"Poor  lamb,  she's  hungry.  Jest  you  run,  there's 
a  dear." 

He  ran.  The  chemist,  a  newcomer,  had  set  up 
his  shop  very  conveniently  at  the  comer  of  Acacia 
Avenue. 

As  Ransome  approached,  a  familiar  figure  emerged 
from  the  shop  doorway ;  it  stood  there  for  a  moment 
as  if  undecided,  then  turned  and  disappeared  roimd 
the  comer. 

It  was  Leonard  Mercier. 

"What  on  earth,"  thought  Ranny,  "is  old  Ju- 
jubes doing  here?" 


The  flying  wonder  of  it  had  barely  flicked  his  brain 
when  it  was  gone.  Ranny's  thoughts  were  where 
his  heart  was,  where  he  was  back  again  in  an  instant, 
in  the  bedroom  with  Winny  and  the  Baby. 

He  prepared  the  child's  food  under  Winny's  di- 
rections (it  was  wonderful  how  Winny  seemed  to 
know) ;  and  before  nightfall,  what  with  rocking  and 
singing,  she  had  soothed  the  Baby  to  sleep. 

Nightfall,  and  Violet  hadn't  come  back. 

"I'm  glad  she's  got  out  at  last,"  Winny  said. 
"She's  had  such  an  awful  day." 

"You  think  she  doesn't  get  out  enough,  then?" 

She  hesitated. 

"I  do.    Not  really  out  because  of  Baby," 
173 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

They  sat  near,  they  spoke  low,  so  as  not  to  wake 
the  child  that  slept  on  Winny's  knee. 

"The  kid  doesn't  give  her  many  awful  days.  It's 
such  a  jolly  kid.  Any  one  would  think  she'd  be 
happy  with  it." 

(  "She's  so  young,  Ranny.  You  should  think  of 
that.  She's  only  like  a  child  herself.  She's  got  to 
be  looked  after.  She  doesn't  know  much  about 
babies.     She  hasn't  had  one  very  long,  you  see." 

"You  know,  Winny.  How's  that?  You  haven't 
had  one  at  all." 

"No.  I  haven't  had  one.  I  can't  say  how  it  is." 
'  He  smiled.  "To  look  at  you  any  one  would  say 
you'd  nursed  a  baby  all  your  life." 

So  she  had — in  fancy  and  in  dreams. 

"It  comes  more  natural  to  some,"  she  said.  "All 
Violet  wants  is  telhng.  You  should  tell  her, 
Ranny." 

"Tell  her  what?" 

"Well — tell  her  to  take  Baby  out  more.  Tell  her 
to  give  her  a  bath  night  and  morning.  Tell  her 
little  babies  get  ill  and  die  if  you  don't  keep  every- 
thing about  them  as  clean  as  clean.  Tell  her  any- 
thing you  like.     But  don't  tell  her  to-night." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  she's  upset." 

"What's  upset  her?" 
■  "I  don't  know.     You'll  upset  her  if  you  go  flying 
out  at  her  about  those   old  bottles  like  you  did; 
and  if  you  go  calling  her  bad  names,     /  heard  you." 

Was  it  possible?  (Why,  he  hadn't  let  it  out,  or, 
if  he  had,  it  had  gone,  quite  innocently,  through  the 
open  window.) 

"If  you're  not  as  gentle  as  gentle  with  her  you'll 
174 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

upset  her  something  awful.  You've  got  to  be  as 
gentle  with  her  as  you  are  with  Baby." 

So  she  thought  he  wasn't  gentle,  did  she?  She 
thought  he  bullied  Violet  and  upset  her  ?  Whatever 
could  Violet  have  been  saying  about  him?  Well — 
well — ^he  couldn't  tell  her  that  he  had  been  as  gentle 
with  her  as  he  was  with  Baby,  and  that  the  gentler 
he  was  the  more  Violet  was  upset. 

He  didn't  know  that  Winky  was  punishing  him  in 
order  to  pimish  herself  for  having  given  Violet  away. 

"All  right,  Winky,"  he  said.  "If  you  think  I'm 
such  a  brute." 

"I  don't  think  anything  of  the  sort,  Ranny.  You 
know  I  don't." 

She  rose  with  the  sleeping  child  in  her  arms  and 
carried  it  to  its  cot.  He  followed  her  and  tinned 
back  the  blanket  for  her  as  she  laid  Baby  down. 
But  it  was  Winny  and  not  Baby  that  he  looked  at. 

And  he  thought,  "Little  Winky 's  grown  up." 

To  be  sure,  her  hair  was  done  differently.  He 
missed  the  door-knocker  plat. 

But  that  was  not  what  he  meant.  He  had  only 
thought  of  it  after  she  had  left  him. 


It  was  past  ten  before  Violet  came  back.  He 
found  her  in  the  sitting-room,  standing  in  the  light 
of  the  gas  flame  she  had  just  lit.  Her  eyes  shone; 
her  face  was  flushed.  She  panted  a  little  as  if  (so 
he  thought)  she  had  hurried,  being  late. 

"Well,"  he  said  to  her,  "have  you  had  your  Uttle 
run?" 

She  stared  and  flung  three  words  at  him. 

"I  wanted  it!" 

175 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  still  she  stared. 

"Vi— "  he  began. 

"Well — what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Nothing's  the  matter  with  me.  But  I'm  afraid 
Baby's  going  to  be  ill." 

She  stood  before  him,  her  breast  heaving.  She 
drew  her  breath  in  and  let  it  out  again  in  a  snort  of 
exasperation. 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Something  Winny  said." 

"What  does  she  know  about  it?" 

He  wanted  to  say  "A  jolly  sight  more  than  you 
do,"  but  he  stopped  himself  in  time. 

He  began  to  talk  gently  to  her. 

And  Violet  was  horribly  upset. 

Wrap  it  up  as  tenderly  as  he  might,  there  was  no 
mistaking  the  awfulness  of  the  charge  he  brought 
against  her.  He  had  as  good  as  taxed  her  with 
neglecting  Baby.  She  had  recourse  to  subterfuge; 
she  sheltered  herself  behind  lies,  laid  on  one  on  the 
top  of  the  other,  little  silly  transparent  lies,  but 
such  a  thundering  lot  of  them  that  Ranny  could  say 
of  each  that  it  was  jolly  thin  and  of  the  whole  that 
it  was  a  bit  too  thick. 

That  brought  her  round,  and  he  wondered  whether 
gentleness  was  the  best  method  for  Violet  after  all. 
He  was  disgusted,  for  he  hated  subterfuge. 

And  she  might  just  as  well  have  owned  up  at 
once;  for  in  a  day  or  two  she  was  defenseless.  The 
Baby  was  ill;  and  the  illness  was  accusation  and 
evidence  and  proof  positive  and  punishment  all  rolled 
into  one;  Baby's  sufferings  being  due  to  the  cause 
that  Ransome  had  assigned.  It  had  been  poisoned, 
suddenly,  from  milk  gone  sour  in  the  abominable 

176 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

bottles,  and  slowly,  subtly  poisoned  from  the  still 
more  abominable  state  of  its  Baby's  Comforter. 
Ransome  and  his  wife  sat  up  three  nights  running, 
and  the  doctor  came  twice  a  day.  And  every  time, 
except  on  the  last  night,  when  the  Baby  nearly 
died,  the  doctor  spoke  brutally  to  Violet.  He  knew 
that  gentleness  was  not  a  bit  of  good. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

STILL,  that  was  in  August,  and  they  could  put 
a  good  half  of  it  down  to  the  hot  weather. 

Besides,  the  Baby  got  over  it.  With  all  its  ac- 
cusing and  witnessing,  it  was,  as  Ranny  said,  a  for- 
giving little  thing;  it  had  never  in  its  life  done 
anybody  any  harm.    It  did  not   hurt  Violet   now. 

And  the  hot  days  passed;  weeks  passed;  months 
passed,  and  winter  and  spring.  The  Baby  had  one 
little  attack  after  another.  It  marked  the  passage 
of  the  months  by  its  calamities ;  and  still  these  might 
be  put  down  to  the  cold  weather  or  the  stress  of 
teething.  Then,  in  a  temperate  week  of  May,  nine- 
teen-six,  it  did  something  decisive.  It  nearly  died 
again  of  enteritis;  and  again  it  was  forgiving  and 
got  over  it. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  things  would  have 
been  simpler  if  it  had  been  cruel  enough  to  die.  For 
the  question  was:    What  were  they  to  do  now? 

Things,  Ransome  said,  had  got  to  be  different. 
They  couldn't  go  on  as  they  were.  The  anxiety 
and  the  discomfort  were  intolerable.  Still,  that  he 
had  conceived  an  end  to  them,  showed  that  he  did 
not  yet  utterly  despair  of  Violet.  She  had  been  ter- 
rified by  the  behavior  of  the  Baby  and  by  the  things, 
the  brutal  things,  the  doctor  had  said  to  her,  and  she 
had  made  another  effort.  Ransome's  trouble  was 
simply  that  he  couldn't  trust  her.     He  said  to  him- 

178 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

self  that  she  had  good  instincts  and  good  impulses 
if  you  could  depend  on  them.  But  you  couldn't. 
With  all  her  obstinacy  she  had  no  staying-power. 
He  recognized  in  her  a  lamentable  and  inveterate 
flabbiness. 

If  he  had  known  all  about  her  he  might  have 
formed  a  larger  estimate  of  her  staying-power.  But 
he  did  not  yet  know  what  she  was.  That  bad  word 
that  he  had  once  let  out  through  the  window  had 
been  in  Ranny's  simple  mind  a  mere  figure  of  speech, 
a  flowering  expletive,  flung  to  the  dark,  devoid  of 
meaning  and  of  fitness.  He  did  not  know  what 
Violet's  impulses  and  her  instincts  really  were.  He 
did  not  know  that  what  he  called  her  flabbiness  was 
the  inertia  in  which  they  stored  their  strength,  nor 
that  in  them  there  remained  a  vigilant  and  inde- 
structible soul,  biding  its  time,  holding  its  own 
against  maternity,  making  more  and  more  for  self- 
protection,  for  assertion,  for  supremacy.  He  felt 
her  mystery,  but  he  had  never  known  the  ultimate 
secret  of  this  woman  who  ate  at  his  board  and  slept 
in  his  bed  and  had  borne  his  child.  It  was  with  his 
eternal  innocence  that  he  put  it  to  her,  What  were 
they  to  do  now? 

And  that  implacable  and  inscrutable  soul  in  her 
was  ready  for  him.  It  prompted  her  to  say  that  she 
couldn't  do  more  than  she  did,  and  that  if  things 
were  to  be  different  he  must  get  some  one  else  to  see 
to  them.  He  must  keep  a  servant.  He  should  have 
kept  one  for  her  long  ago. 

Poor  Ranny  protested  that  he'd  keep  twenty  ser- 
vants for  her  if  he  could  afford  it.  As  it  was,  a  char- 
woman every  week  was  more  than  he  could  manage, 
and  she  knew  it.     And  she  said,  looking  at  him  very 

179 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

straight,  that  there  was  one  way  they  could  do  it. 
They  cotild  do  as  other  people  did.  In  half  the 
houses  in  the  Avenue  they  let  apartments.  They 
must  take  a  lodger. 

Violet  had  thrown  out  this  suggestion  more  than 
once  lately.  And  he  had  put  his  foot  down.  Neither 
he  nor  Granville,  he  said,  could  stand  a  lodger.  A 
lodger  would  make  Granville  too  hot  by  far  to 
hold  him. 

Now  in  their  stress  he  owned  that  there  was  some- 
thing in  it.     He  would  think  it  over. 

Thinking  it  over,  he  saw  more  than  ever  how  im- 
possible it  was.  The  charwoman,  advancing  more 
and  more,  had  been  a  fearful  strain  on  his  resources, 
and  the  expenses  of  the  Baby's  birth  had  brought 
them  to  the  breaking-point.  And  then  there  had 
been  Baby's  illnesses.  Before  that  ^there  was  the 
perambulator. 

But  that  was  worth  it.  He  remembered  how  last 
year  he  had  seen  an  enormous  poster  in  High  Street, 
with  the  words  in  scarlet  letters:  "Are  you  With  or 
Without  a  Pram  for  Baby?"  He  had  reaHzed  then 
for  the  first  time  that  he  was  without  one.  And  the 
scarlet  letters  had  burnt  themselves  into  his  brain, 
until,  for  the  very  anguish  of  it,  he  had  gone  and 
bought  a  pram  and  wheeled  it  home  under  cover  of 
the  darkness,  disguised  in  its  brown-paper  wrappings 
to  heighten  the  surprise  of  it.  Violet  had  not  been 
half  so  pleased  nor  yet  surprised  as  he  had  expected; 
but  he  had  got  his  money  back  again  and  again  on 
that  pram  with  the  fun  he'd  had  out  of  it. 

But  before  that  again,  in  their  first  year,  things 
had  had  to  be  done  for  the  house  and  garden. 
Ranny  shuddered  now  when  he  thought  of  what  the 

1 80 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

lawn-mower  alone  had  cost  him.  And  that  tree! 
And  then  the  little  pleasures  and  the  outings — when 
he  totted  them  all  up  he  found  that  he  had  taken 
Violet  to  Earl's  Court  and  the  Coliseum  far,  far 
oftener  than  he  could  have  believed  possible.  Look- 
ing back  on  that  first  year,  he  seemed  to  have  been 
always  taking  her  somewhere.  She  wasn't  happy 
when  he  didn't. 

No,  and  she  hadn't  been  very  happy  when  he  did. 
He  would  never  forget  that  week  they  had  spent  at 
Southend  last  Whitsuntide,  when  he  got  his  holiday. 
And  it  had  all  eaten  into  money.  Not  that  he 
grudged  it;  but  the  fact  remained.  His  margin 
was  gone;  half  his  savings  were  gone;  his  income 
had  suffered  a  permanent  shrinkage  of  two  pounds 
a  year. 

Impossible  to  keep  a  servant  without  the  aid  of 
the  lodger  he  abhorred.  But  with  it  not  only  possible 
but  easy,  easy  as  saying  how  d'you  do.  Except  for 
the  presence  of  the  loathsome  lodger,  nothing  would 
be  changed.  The  back  bedroom  was  there  all  ready, 
eating  its  head  off;  and  for  all  they  used  the  front 
sitting-room,  they  might  just  as  well  not  have  had 
one. 

They  could  get  somebody  who  would  be  out  all 
day. 

He  thought  about  it  for  three  weeks,  but  before 
he  made  up  his  mind  he  talked  it  over  with  his 
mother.  She  had  come  to  see  them  late  one  evening 
in  June,  and  he  had  walked  back  with  her.  She  was 
tired,  she  said,  and  they  had  found  a  seat  in  a  little 
three-cornered  grove  where  the  public  footpath  goes 
to  Wandsworth  High  Street. 

In  this  favorable  retreat  Ranny  disclosed  to  his 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

mother  as  much  as  he  could  of  his  affairs.  Mrs. 
Ransome  didn't  like  the  idea  of  the  lodger  any  more 
than  he  did,  but  she  admitted  that  it  was  a  way  out 
of  it,  "Only,"  she  said,  "if  I  was  you  I  should  have 
a  lady.  Some  one  you  know  about.  Some  one  who 
might  look  after  Vi'let." 

"That's  right.  But  Virelet  would  have  to  look 
after  her,  you  see." 

"Vi 'let's  no  more  idea  of  looking  after  anybody 
than  the  cat." 

"It  isn't  her  fault,  Mother." 

"I'm  not  saying  it's  her  fault.  But  it's  a  pity  all 
the  same  you  should  have  to  put  up  with  it." 

"It's  larks  for  me  to  what  Vi  puts  up  with.  I 
shouldn't  mind,  if — " 

He  drew  back,  shy  before  the  trouble  of  his  soul.     ' 

"If  what,  Ranny?"  she  said,  gently. 

"If  she  seemed  to  care  a  bit  more  for  the  kid. 
Sometimes  I  think  she  actually — " 

Though  he  could  not  say  it,  Mrs.  Ransome  knew. 

"Don't  you  think  that,  Ranny.  Don't  you  think 
it,  my  dear." 

She  was  playing  at  the  old  game  of  hiding  things, 
and  she  expected  him  to  keep  it  up.  She  had  never 
admitted  for  one  moment  that  his  father  drank; 
and  she  wasn't  going  to  admit,  or  to  let  him  admit, 
for  a  moment  that  his  wife  was  a  bad  mother. 

So  she  changed  the  subject. 

"That's  a  nice  little  girl  I  see  sometimes  down  at 
your  place.  That  Winny  Dymond.  Is  she  a  friend 
of  Vi 'let's?" 

Ranny  said  she  was. 

"Has  Vi'let  known  her  long?" 

"I  think  so.     I  can't  say  exactly  how  long." 
182 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Before  she  was  married?" 

"Yes." 

Something  in  his  manner  made  her  pause,  pon- 
dering. 

"Did  you  know  her  before  you  married,  Ran?" 

"Ages  before." 

His  mother  sighed. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Ranny,  harking  back,  "some 
women  are  Hke  that." 

"Like  what  now?"  She  didn't  want  to  go  back 
to  it.  She  was  afraid  of  what  she  might  be  driven 
to  say. 

"Not  caring  much  about  their  own  kids." 

"Oh,  Ranny,  why  do  you  'arp  on  it?" 

"Because  I  don't  understand  it.  It's  just  the 
one  thing  I  can't  understand.  What  does  it  mean, 
Mother?" 

"Well,  my  dear,  sometimes  it  means  that  they 
can't  care  for  anything  but  their  'usbands.  It's 
'usband,  'usband  with  them  all  the  time.  There's 
some,"  she  elaborated,  "that  care  most  for  their 
'usbands,  and  there's  some  that  care  most  for  their 
children." 

(He  wondered  which  would  Winny  Dymond  care 
for  most?) 

"And  there's  some,"  said  Mrs.  Ransome,  "that 
care  most  for  both,  and  care  different,  and  that's 
best." 

(Winny,  he  somehow  fancied,  would  have  been 
that  sort.) 

"Which  did  you  care  for  most,  Mother?" 

"You  mustn't  ask  me  that  question,  Ranny.  I 
can't  answer  it." 

But  he  knew.  He  felt  her  yearning  toward  him 
183 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

even  then.  There  was  something  very  artful,  and 
at  the  same  time  very  comforting,  about  his  mother. 
She  had  made  him  feel  that  Violet  was  all  right,  that 
he  was  all  right,  that  everything,  in  fact,  was  all  right ; 
that  he  was,  indeed,  twice  blest  since  he  had  a  wife 
who  loved  him  better  than  her  child,  and  a  mother 
who  loved  him  better  than  her  husband. 

"Talking  of  husbands,"  he  said,  "how's  the  Tor- 
pichen  Badger?" 

She  shook  her  head  at  him  in  the  old  way;  keep- 
ing it  up. 

"Oh,  Ranny,  you  mustn't  call  your  father  that." 

"Why  not?" 

"It's  a  whisky,  my  dear." 

(He  could  have  sworn  there  was  the  ghost  of  a 
smile  about  her  soft  mouth.) 

"So  it  is.     I  forgot.     Well,  how's  the  Hedgehog?" 

For  all  her  smile  Mrs.  Ransome  seemed  to  be 
breaking  down  all  of  a  sudden,  as  if  in  another  mo- 
ment the  truth  would  have  come  out  of  her ;  but  she 
recovered,  and  she  kept  it  up. 

"He's  had  the  Headache  come  on  more  than  ever. 
I've  never  known  a  time  when  His  Headache  has 
been  so  bad.     Most  constant  it  is." 

Ranny  preserved  a  respectful  silence. 

* '  He's  worrying.  That's  what  it  is.  Your  father's 
got  too  much  on  His  mind.  The  business  isn't  doing 
quite  so  well  as  it  did  now  He  can't  see  to  things. 
And  here's  Mercier  saying  that  he's  going  to 
leave." 

"What?  Old  Eno?  What's  he  want  to  leave 
for?" 

"To  better  himself,  I  suppose.  You  can't  blame 
him." 

X84 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

They  rose  and  went  on  their  way  that  plunged 
presently  into  Wandsworth  High  Street. 


By  the  time  he  got  home  again  Ransome  had 
braced  himself  to  the  prospect  of  the  thing  he  hated. 
They  might  let  the  rooms,  perhaps,  for  a  little 
while,  say,  till  Michaelmas  when  he  would  have 
got  his  rise.  Yes,  perhaps;  if  they  could  find  a 
lady. 

But  Violet  wouldn't  hear  of  a  lady.  Ladies  gave 
too  much  trouble ;  they  nagged  at  you,  and  they  beat 
you  down. 

Well,  then,  if  she  liked,  a  gentleman.  A  gentle- 
man who  would  be  out  all  day,  and  whose  hours  of 
occupation  would  coincide  strictly  with  his  own. 
But  he  impressed  it  on  her  that  no  rooms  were  to 
be  let  in  his  absence  to  any  applicant  whom  he  had 
not  first  inspected. 

So  they  settled  it. 

Then,  as  if  they  had  scented  trouble,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Usher  came  up  from  Hertfordshire  the  very  next 
Saturday.  They  looked  strangely  at  each  other 
when  the  idea  of  the  lodger  was  put  before  them, 
and  Mr.  Usher  took  Ranny  out  into  the  gar- 
den. 

"I  wouldn't  do  it,"  Mr.  Usher  said.  "Let  her 
work,  let  her  work  with  her  'ands.  A  big,  strapping 
girl  like  her,  it  won't  hurt  her.  Why,  my  Missis 
there  could  turn  out  your  little  doll-'ouse  in  a  hour. 
Don't  you  take  no  gentlemen  lodgers.  Don't  you 
let  her  do  it,  Randall,  my  boy,  or  there'll  be 
trouble." 

The  advice  came  too  late.     That  very  evening 

185 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Violet  informed  her  husband  that  she  had  let  the 
rooms. 

And  while  Ranny  raged  she  assured  him  that  it 
was  all  right.  She  had  done  exactly  what  he  had 
told  her.  She  had  let  them  to  a  friend  of  his — 
Leonard  Mercier. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SHE  gathered  from  his  silence  that  it  was  all 
right.  Not  a  muscle  of  Ranny's  face  betrayed 
to  her  that  it  was  all  wrong. 

Ever  since  his  marriage  he  had  kept  Leonard 
Mercier  at  a  distance.  He  had  had  to  meet  him,  of 
course,  and  Violet  had  had  to  meet  him,  now  and 
again  at  dinner  or  supper  in  his  father's  house;  but 
Ranny  was  not  going  to  let  him  hang  round  his  own 
house  if  he  could  help  it.  When  Jujubes  suggested 
dropping  in  on  a  Sunday,  Ranny  assured  him  that 
on  Sundays  they  were  always  out.  And  Mercier 
had  met  the  statement  with  his  atrocious  smile.  He 
understood  that  Randall  meant  to  keep  himself  to 
himself.  Or  was  it,  Mercier  wondered,  his  young 
wife  that  he  meant  to  keep? 

And  wondering,  he  smiled  more  atrociously  than 
ever.  It  pleased  him,  it  excited  him  to  think  that 
young  Randall  regarded  him  as  dangerous. 

But  Randall  did  not  regard  him  as  dangerous  in 
the  least.  To  Ranny,  Jujubes,  in  his  increasing 
flabbiness,  was  too  disgusting  to  be  dangerous. 
And  his  conversation,  his  silly  goat's  talk,  was  dis- 
gusting, too.  Ranny  had  thought  that  Violet  would 
find  Jujubes  and  his  conversation  every  bit  as  dis- 
agreeable as  he  did. 

Even  now,  while  some  instinct  warned  him  of  im- 
pending crisis,  he  still  regarded  Leonard  Mercier  as 
13  187 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

decidedly  less  dangerous  than  disgusting.  He  wasn't 
going  to  have  the  flabby  fellow  living  in  his  house. 
That  was  all;  and  it  was  enough. 

And  in  this  moment  that  his  instinct  recognized 
as  critical,  he  acquired  a  wisdom  and  a  guile  that 
ages  of  experience  might  have  failed  to  teach  him. 
With  no  perceptible  pause,  and  in  a  voice  utteriy 
devoid  of  any  treacherous  emotion,  he  inquired  what 
Mercier  was  doing  there,  and  learned  that  Mercier 
was  leaving  Wandsworth  next  week,  on  the  thirteenth, 
and  would  be  established  as  chief  assistant  in  the 
new  chemist's  shop  in  Acacia  Avenue. 

He  remembered.  He  remembered  how  last  year 
he  had  seen  Jujubes  coming  out  of  the  chemist's 
shop  and  looking  about  him.  So  that  was  what  he 
was  after!  There  had  been  no  chance  for  him  last 
year;  but  Southfields  was  a  rising  suburb,  and  this 
summer  the  new  chemist  was  able  to  increase  his 
staff. 

It  was  not  surprising  that  Mercier  should  want  to 
leave  Wandsworth,  nor  that  the  new  chemist  should 
desire  to  increase  his  staff,  nor  that  these  two  desires 
should  coincide  in  time.  Nothing,  indeed,  could  be 
more  natiural.  But  still  Ranny's  instinct  told  him 
that  there  had  been  a  curious  persistency  about  old 
Eno. 

Well,  he  would  have  to  interview  old  Eno,  that  was 
all. 

He  waited  a  whole  hour,  to  show  that  he  was  not 
excited;  and  then,  without  saying  a  word  to  Violet, 
he  whirled  himself  furiously  down  to  Wandsworth. 

The  interview  took  place  very  quietly  over  his 
father's  counter.  He  found  his  quarry  alone  there 
in  the  shop. 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Leonard  Mercier  greeted  him  with  immense  ur- 
banity. He  could  afford  to  be  urbane.  He  was 
dressed,  and  knew  that  he  was  dressed,  with  absohite 
correctness  in  the  prevaiHng  style,  a  style  that  dis- 
guised and  restrained  his  increasing  flabbiness,  where- 
as, though  Ranny's  figure  was  firm  and  slender,  his 
suit  was  shabby.  Leonard  Mercier  had  the  prosper- 
ous appearance  of  a  man  unencumbered  with  a  wife 
and  family.  And  unless  you  insisted  on  hard  tissues  he 
was  good-looking  in  his  own  coarse  way.  His  face, 
with  all  its  flabbiness,  had  its  dark  accent  and  dis- 
tinction; and  these  were  rendered  even  more  em- 
phatic by  the  growth  of  a  black  mustache  which  he 
had  trained  with  care.  The  ends  of  it  were  waxed 
and  drawn  finely  to  a  point.  His  finger  nails  and  his 
skin,  his  hair  and  his  mustache  showed  that  the 
young  chemist  did  not  disdain  the  use  of  the  cosmet- 
ics that  lay  so  ready  to  his  hand. 

The  duologue  was  brief. 

' '  Hello,  old  chappy.  So  you're  going  to  be  my  new 
landlord?" 

"Not  much:' 

"What's  that?" 

"Some  error  of  my  wife's,  I  fancy," 

"As  7  understand  it  Mrs.  Ransome's  let  me  two 
rooms,  and  I've  taken  them." 

"That's  right.     But  you  can't  have  'em," 

"But  I've  engaged  them," 

"Sorry,  Jujubes.  You  were  a  trifle  previous.  I'm 
not  letting  any  rooms  just  yet." 

"Mrs.  Ransome  told  me  the  contrary." 

"Then  Mrs.  Ransome  didn't  know  what  she  was 
talking  about." 

"Rats!    When  you  told  her— '' 

1S9 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"It's  immaterial,"  said  Ranny,  with  great  dignity, 
"what  I  told  her.  For  I've  changed  my  mind. 
See?" 

"You  can't  change  it.  You  can't  play  fast  and 
loose  like  that.  I've  engaged  those  rooms  from  a 
week  to-day.     Where  am  I  to  go  to  ?" 

"You  can  go  to  hell  if  you  like,"  said  Ranny, 
with  marked  amiability. 

Up  to  that  point  Mercier  had  been  amiable  too. 
But  when  Ranny  told  him  where  he  might  go  to  he 
began  to  look  unpleasant. 

Unpleasant,  not  dangerous;  oh  no,  not  dangerous 
at  all.  Ranny  looked  at  him  and  thought  how  he 
would  go  in  like  a  pillow  if  you  prodded  him,  and  of 
the  jelly,  the  jelly  on  the  floor,  he  would  make  if  you 
pounded. 

"You've  got  to  account  to  me  for  this,"  said 
Mercier.  "Those  rooms  are  let  to  me  from  the 
thirteenth,  and  on  the  thirteenth  I  come  into  them, 
or  you  pay  me  fifteen  bob  for  the  week's  rent." 

"Have  you  got  that  down  in  black  and  white?" 

He  had  not. 

"Well — if  you  come  into  those  rooms  on  the 
thirteenth  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  get  it  down  in 
black  and  blue." 

Whereupon  Mercier  pretended  that  he  was  only 
joking.  He  was  glad  that  the  coimter  was  between 
him  and  young  Randall,  the  silly  ass.  And  Ranny 
said  it  was  all  right  and  offered  him  (magnanimously) 
the  fifteen  shilHngs,  which  Mercier  (magnanimously) 
refused  on  the  grounds  that  he  had  been  joking. 
Then  Ranny,  beholding  Jujubes  for  the  lamentably 
flabby  thing  he  was,  and  considering  that  after  all  he 
had  not  dealt  quite  fairly  with  him,  undertook  to 

190 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

find  him  quarters  equal  if  not  superior  to  Granville; 
where,  he  assured  him,  he  would  not  be  comfortable. 
And  having  shaken  hands  with  Jujubes  across  the 
barrier  of  the  counter,  he  strode  out  of  the  shop 
with  a  formidable  tightening  and  rippHng  of  muscles 
under  his  thin  suit. 

Mercier  leaned  back  against  the  shelves  of  white 
jars  and  pondered.  Recovering  presently,  he  made 
a  minute  inspection  of  his  finger  nails.  He  then 
stroked  his  mustache  into  a  tighter  curl  that  re- 
vealed the  rich  red  curve  of  his  upper  lip.  And  as  he 
caught  the  pleasing  reflection  of  himself  in  the  look- 
ing-glass panel  opposite  he  smiled  with  a  peculiar 
atrocity. 

Up  till  then  his  mood  had  been  the  petty  fury  of  a 
shopman  balked  of  his  bargain  and  insulted.  Now, 
in  that  moment,  the  moment  of  his  recovery,  an- 
other thought  had  occurred  to  Mercier. 

It  accounted  for  his  smile. 


Ransome  went  back  to  Granville  with  his  mind 
unalterably  made  up.  He  was  not  going  to  let  any 
rooms  to  anybody,  ever.  The  letting  of  rooms  was, 
if  you  came  to  think  of  it,  a  desecration  of  the  sanctity 
of  the  home  and  an  outrage  to  the  dignity  of  Gran- 
ville. When  he  thought  of  Jujubes  sprawHng 
flabbily  in  the  front  sitting-room,  strolling  flabbily 
(as  he  would  stroll)  in  the  garden,  sleeping  (and 
oh,  with  what  frightful  flabbiness  he  would  sleep!) 
in  the  back  bedroom  next  his  own,  filling  the  place 
(as  he  would)  with  the  loathsome  presence  and  the 
vision  and  the  memory  of  Flabbiness,  he  realized 
what  it  was  to  let  your  rooms.     And  realizing  it, 

191 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

he  had  no  doubt  that  he  could  make  Violet  see  the 
horror  and  the  nuisance  of  it.  Come  to  that,  she 
shrank  from  trouble,  and  Jujubes  would  have  been 
ten  times  more  trouble  than  he  was  worth. 

In  fact,  Ranny,  having  settled  the  affair  so  entirely 
to  his  own  satisfaction,  could  no  longer  perceive  any 
necessity  for  caution,  and  rushed  on  it  recklessly 
at  supper;  though  experience  had  taught  him  to 
avoid  all  unpleasant  subjects  at  the  table.  The 
unpleasantness  soaked  through  into  the  food,  as  it 
were,  and  made  it  more  unappetizing  and  more 
deleterious  than  ever.  Besides,  Violet  was  apt  to 
be  irritable  at  meal- times. 

"It's  off,  Vikes,  that  letting." 

He  saw  nothing  at  all  unpleasant  in  the  statement 
as  it  stood,  and  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  manner 
in  which  she  received  it. 

"Off?     What  d'you  mean?" 

"I've  been  down  and  I've  seen  Mercier." 

"He  told  you  what?" 

She  had  raised  her  head.  Her  red  mouth  slackened 
as  if  with  the  passage  of  some  cry  inaudible.  Her 
eyes  stared,  not  at  her  husband,  but  beyond  and  a 
little  above  him;  there  was  a  look  in  them  of  terror 
and  enraged  desire,  as  if  the  object  of  their  vision 
were  retreating,  vanishing. 

But  it  was  all  vague,  meaningless,  incompre- 
hensible to  Ranny.  He  only  remembered  after- 
ward, long  afterward,  that  on  that  night  when  he 
had  spoken  of  Mercier  she  had  "looked  queer." 

And  the  queerest  thing  was  that  she  did  not  know 
Mercier  then,  or  hardly ;  hardly  to  speak  to. 

He  answered  her  question. 

"He  told  me  he'd  taken  the  rooms,  of  course." 

192 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"And  so  he  did  take  them!" 

"Yes,  he  took  them  all  right.  But  I  had  to  tell 
him  that  he  couldn't  have  them." 

"But  you  can't  act  like  that.  You  can't  turn  him 
out  if  he  wants  to  come." 

"Oh,  can't  I?  He  knows  that.  Jolly  well  he 
knows  it.  He  won't  want  to  come.  Anyhow,  he 
isn't  coming." 

"You  stopped  him?" 

"Should  think  I  did.  Rather,"  said  Ranny, 
cheerfully. 

She  shot  at  him  from  those  covering  brows  of  hers 
a  look  that  was  malignant  and  vindictive.  It 
missed  him  clean. 

"Y — y — you !"     Whatever  word   she  would 

have  uttered  she  drew  it  back  with  her  vehement 
breath.     ''What  did  you  do  that  for?" 

"Why,  because  I  don't  want  the  fellow  in  the 
house." 

"Why — don't — ^you  want  him?"  Her  shaking 
voice  crept  now  as  if  under  cover. 

"Because  I  don't  approve  of  him.     That's  why." 

"What  have  you  got  against  him?" 

"Never  you  mind.  I  don't  approve  of  him.  No 
more  would  you  if  you  knew  anything  about  him. 
Don't  you  worry.  You  couldn't  stand  him,  Vi,  if 
you  had  him  here." 

She  pushed  her  plate  violently  away  from  her  with 
its  untasted  food,  and  planted  her  elbows  on  the 
table.  She  leaned  forward,  her  chin  sunk  in  her 
hands,  the  raised  arms  supporting  this  bodily  col- 
lapse. Foreshortened,  flattened  by  its  backward 
tilt,  its  full  jowl  strained  back,  its  chin  thrust  tow- 
ard him  and  sharpened  to  a  V  by  the  pressure  of  her 

193 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

hands,  its  eyes  darkened  and  narrowed  under  their 
slant  lids,  her  face  was  hardly  recognizable  as  the 
face  he  knew. 

But  its  sinister,  defiant,  menacing  quality  was  lost 
on  Ranny.  He  said  to  himself:  "She's  rattled,  poor 
girl;  and  she's  worried.  That's  why  she  looks  so 
queer." 

"You  haven't  told  me  yet,"  she  persisted,  "what 
you've  got  against  him." 

And  Ranny  replied  in  a  voice  devoid  of  rancor: 
"He's  a  low  swine.  If  we  took  him  in  I  should  have 
to  build  a  pigsty  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  for 
him,  and  I  can't  afford  it.  Granville  isn't  big  enough 
for  him  and  me.  And  it  wouldn't  be  big  enough 
for  him  and  you,  neither.  You'd  be  the  first  to  come 
and  ask  me  to  chuck  him  out."  He  spoke  low,  for 
he  heard  the  neighbors  talking  in  the  next  garden. 

"Fat  lot  you  think  of  me!''  she  cried. 

"It's  you  I  am  thinking  of." 

She  rose  from  the  table,  dragging  the  cloth  askew 
in  her  traiHng,  hysterical  stagger.  She  lurched  to 
the  French  window  that,  thrown  back  against  the 
wall,  opened  onto  the  little  garden.  And  she  stood 
there,  leaning  against  the  long  window  and  pressing 
her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth  till  the  storm  of  her 
sobbing  burst  through. 

The  people  in  the  next  garden  stopped  talking. 

"For  God's  sake,"  said  Ranny,  "shut  that  win- 
dow." 

He  got  up  and  shut  it  himself,  moving  her  inert 
bulk  aside  gently  for  the  purpose.  And  she  stood 
against  the  wall  and  laid  her  face  on  it  and  cried. 

And  Ranny  called  upon  the  Lord  in  his  helpless- 
ness. 

194 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  went  and  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  she  thrust 
him  from  her,  and  then  whimpered  weakly : 

"  Wh — wh — wh — why  are  you  so  unkind  to 
me?" 

"Unkind!     Oh,  my  Aunt  EHza!" 

"You  don't  care.  You  don't  care,"  she  moaned. 
"You  don't  care  what  happens  to  me.  I  might  die 
to-morrow,  and  you  wouldn't  care." 

"Oh,  come — "  he  ventured. 

But  Violet  wouldn't  come.  She  was  off,  borne 
from  him  on  the  rising  tide  of  hysteria. 

"It's  true!  It's  true!"  she  cried.  "Else  you 
wouldn't  use  me  like  you  do," 

"But  look  here.  Whatter  you  goin'  on  about? 
Just  because  I  don't  want  you  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  Mercier." 

She  raised  her  flaming  face  at  that. 

"It's  a  lie!  It's  a  beastly  lie!  I  never  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  Mercier." 

"Who  said  you'd  had  anything  to  do  with  him?" 

"You  did.  And  I  hardly  know  him.  I've  hardly 
seen  him,  I've  hardly  spoken  to  him  be — be — 
before." 

"I  never  said  you  had." 

"You  thought  it." 

"You  know  I  didn't.     How  could  I  think  it?" 

"You  did.  That's  why  you  wouldn't  let  him 
come.     You  won't  trust  me  with  him." 

"Trust  you  with  him?  I  should  think  I  would 
trust  you.     Him!    The  flabby  swine!" 

Violet's  sobs  sank  lower.  They  shook  her  in- 
wardly, which  was  terrible  to  see. 

And  as  he  looked  at  her  he  remembered  yet  again 
how  in  the  beginning  he  had  wronged  her.     That 

195 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

was  what  made  her  think  he  wouldn't  trust  her. 
There  would  always  be  that  wrong  between  them. 

He  drew  her  (unresisting  now)  to  the  other  side 
of  the  room  and  lowered  her  to  the  couch  that  stood 
there.  He  looked  into  the  teapot,  where  the  drained 
leaves  were  still  warm.  He  filled  it  up  again  with 
boiling  water  from  the  kettle  on  the  gas  ring,  and 
poured  out  a  cup  and  gave  it  her  to  drink,  supporting 
her  stooping  head  tenderly  with  his  hand.  Her  fore- 
head burned  to  his  touch. 

"Poor  Httle  Vi,"  he  said.     "Poor  little  Vi." 

She  glanced  at  him;  slantwise,  yet  the  look  made 
his  heart  ache. 

"Then  you  do  trust  me?"  she  muttered. 

"You  know  I  do." 

They  sat  there  leaning  against  each  other  till  the 
room  grew  dim.  Then  they  rose,  uncertainly;  and 
hand  in  hand,  as  it  were  under  the  old  enchantment, 
they  went  upstairs  into  the  dark  room  where  the 
Baby  slept. 

To-night  he  did  not  look  at  it. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THAT  was  on  the  eighth  of  June. 
He  remembered,  because  it  was  a  Saturday, 
Saturdays  and  Sundays  being  the  landmarks  of  his 
existence  by  which  alone  he  measured  the  distances 
and  marked  the  order  of  events.  The  habit  of  so 
regarding  them  was  contracted  in  his  early  days  at 
Woolridge's,  when  only  in  and  by  those  hours 
snatched  from  Woolridge's  did  he  live.  All  other 
days  of  the  week  were  colored  and  had  value  ac- 
cording to  their  nearness  to  Saturday  and  Sunday. 
Monday  was  black,  Tuesday  brown,  Wednesday  a 
browny  gray,  Thursday  a  rather  clearer  gray  (by 
Thursday  you  had  broken  the  back  of  the  week), 
Friday  distinctly  rosy,  and  Saturday  and  Sunday, 
even  when  it  rained,  a  golden  white. 

He  hadn't  been  married  a  year  before  all  the  seven 
were  shady;  the  colors  ran  into  each  other  till  even 
Sundays  became  a  kind  of  grayish  drab.  And  still 
he  continued  to  date  things  by  Saturdays  and  Sun- 
days; as  he  did  now  in  his  mind,  exultantly,  thus: 
"Saturday,  the  eighth:  Jujubes  knocked  out  in  the 
first  round." 

Not  that  the  dates  went  for  very  much  with 
Ranny,  to  whom  interesting  things  so  seldom  hap- 
pened. He  remembered  this  one  more  because  of 
his  scoring  off  Jujubes  than  because  of  the  scene 
with  Violet  and  its  sequel.     He  was  used  to  scenes 

197 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

and  sequels,  and  was  no  longer  concerned  to  note 
their  correspondence  and  significance.  So  that  he 
never  noted  now  that  it  was  on  and  after  Thursday, 
the  thirteenth,  that  what  he  called  the  Great  Im- 
provement had  begun. 

He  meant  the  improvement  in  Violet's  appear- 
ance. He  had  accepted  the  fact  that,  in  all  house- 
hold matters,  his  wife  was  a  slut  and  a  slattern; 
yet  it  staggered  him  when  it  first  dawned  on  him 
that,  in  the  awful  deterioration  of  Granville  and  the 
Baby,  the  standard  of  her  own  toilette  had  gradually 
lowered.  Then  gradually  he  got  inured  to  it.  The 
tousled,  tumbling  hair,  the  slipshod  feet,  the  soiled 
blouse  gaping  at  the  back,  were,  he  reflected  bitterly, 
in  perfect  harmony  with  Granville,  and  of  a  piece 
with  everything.  He  had  ceased  to  censure  them; 
they  belonged  so  inalienably  to  the  drab  monotone; 
they  were  so  indissolubly  a  part  of  all  his  life.  And 
somehow  she  bloomed  in  spite  of  them.  Ranny's 
imconquerable  soul  still  cried  "Stick  it!"  as  he 
grappled  with  her  shameless  blouses. 

And  now,  suddenly,  she  had  changed  all  that. 
She  had  become  once  more  the  creature  of  mysteri- 
ous elegance,  of  beauty  charged  with  magical  reminis- 
cence, in  the  trim  skirt  and  stainless  blouse,  clipped 
by  the  close  belt;  and  with  the  bit  of  narrow  black 
velvet  ribbon  round  her  throat.  Even  in  the  morn- 
ing she  appeared  once  more  with  a  clear  parting  in 
her  brushed  and  burnished  hair.  Even  in  the 
morning  her  soft  skin  was  once  more  sweet  in  its 
sheer  cleanness.  And  in  the  evening  there  soaked 
through  and  fell  and  hung  about  her  th^t  old  fra- 
grance of  violets  that  invariably  turned  his  head. 

And  she  had  bought  new  stockings  and  new  shoes; 

198 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

openwork  stockings  that  showed  her  white  feet 
through,  and  little,  little  shoes  with  immense  steel 
buckles.  And  her  new  mushroom  with  the  big  red 
roses  round  it  assaulted,  battered,  and  beat  into 
cocked  hats  all  the  other  mushrooms  in  the  Avenue. 

But  it  was  the  stockings  and  the  shoes  that  made 
him  kiss  her  feet  when,  on  Sunday,  the  sixteenth, 
he  first  saw  them  coming  down  the  stairs. 

"Do  you  like  my  shoes?"  she  said.  And  she  stuck 
them  out  one  after  the  other.  As  she  was  standing 
four  steps  above  him  they  were  on  a  level  with  his 
mouth;  so  he  kissed  them  one  after  another,  on  the 
instep,  just  above  the  buckles. 

"Do  you  like  my  dress?" 

"It's  ripping." 

"Do  you  like  my  hat?" 

"It's  an  A I  hat;  but  it's  those  feet  that  fetch  me." 

He  had  not  been  so  fetched  for  a  whole  year.  It 
was  a  most  peculiar  fetching. 

They  went  to  church  together  (they  had  hired  a 
little  girl  for  the  last  week  to  mind  the  toddling 
Baby  in  the  mornings).  It  might  have  been  for 
church  that  she  had  put  on  that  hat.  It  could  only 
be  for  him  that  she  wore  the  shoes.  All  through 
the  service  Ranny's  heart  was  singing  a  hymn  to 
the  blessed  little  feet  that  had  so  fetched  him,  the 
blessed  little  tootsy-woots  in  the  blessed  little  shoes. 
He  knelt,  adoring,  to  the  hem  of  the  new  white  dress. 
He  bowed  his  head  under  the  benediction  of  the  hat. 

The  fact  that  Mercier  was  established  in  the 
chemist's  pew  opposite,  and  was  staring  at  the  hat, 
and  under  it,  did  not  interfere  with  his  devotions  in 
the  least.  He  could  even  afford  to  let  old  Jujubes 
walk  home  with  them,  though  he  managed  to  shake 

199 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

him  off  adroitly  at  his  shop  door.  Nothing  could 
really  interfere  with  his  devotions.  For  he  felt  that 
those  things,  especially  the  shoes,  were  the  outward 
and  visible  signs  of  an  inward  and  spiritual  grace. 
Some  grace  that  had  descended  out  of  Heaven  upon 
Violet. 

The  signs  would  be,  no  doubt,  expensive;  they 
should  not  have  been  so  much  as  dreamed  of  before 
Michaelmas,  when  he  would  get  his  rise;  that 
splendiferous  get-up  would  in  all  probability  just 
about  clean  him  out,  rise  and  all;  but  he  tried  not 
to  look  on  the  dark  side  of  it.  He  was  not  one  to 
quench  the  spirit  or  the  smoking  flax. 

But,  as  the  hours  and  the  days  went  by,  it  was 
borne  in  upon  him  that  there  was  absolutely  no  con- 
nection between  Violet's  inward  state  and  that  re- 
generated outside.  This  perturbed  him;  and  it 
would  have  perturbed  him  more  but  that  he  had 
other  things  to  think  of,  and  that  in  any  case  he 
believed  that  a  woman's  clothes  do  not  necessarily 
point  to  an  end  beyond  themselves. 

Now,  if  he  had  been  less  preoccupied  and  had  paid 
more  heed  to  dates,  he  would  have  noted  three 
things:  that  it  was  on  and  after  the  evening  of 
Thursday,  the  twentieth,  that  her  mood  of  gay 
excitement  and  of  satisfaction  died  and  gave  place 
to  restlessness,  irritation,  and  expectancy  (a  strained 
and  racking,  a  dismayed  and  balked  expectancy); 
that  Thursday,  the  twentieth,  was  early-closing  day 
in  Southfields;  and  that  consequently  Leonard  Mer- 
cier  was  at  large.  And  having  gone  thus  far  in  ob- 
servation, he  must  have  seen  that  it  was  on  and 
after  Thursday,  the  twenty-seventh  (early-closing 
day  again)  that  she  became  intolerable. 

200 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Intolerable.  There  was  no  other  word  for  it. 
The  ''joie  de  veeve"  was  so  intense  that  it  was  not 
to  be  borne.  She  had  days  of  stupor  now  that  fol- 
lowed fits  of  fury.  He  didn't  know  which  was  the 
worse,  the  fury  or  the  stupor. 

But  it  was  the  stupor  that  made  him  burst  out 
one  night  (at  supper;  it  was  always  at  supper  that 
these  things  happened). 

She  had  brought  it  on  herself  by  asking  what  he 
wanted  now  when  he  had  broken  the  frightful  si- 
lence by  addressing  her  affectionately  as  "Vikey." 

"What  I  want,"  said  Ranny  then,  "is  a  change. 
I  want  bracing;  and  bright  surroundings,  and  enter- 
taining society.     I  shall  go  and  live  at  Brookwood." 

At  last  it  was  too  much  for  anybody  (the  fury, 
this  time).  It  was  too  much  for  the  charwoman, 
even  once  a  fortnight,  and  she  refused  to  come 
again.  It  was  too  much  for  the  little  girl  who 
minded  Baby  in  the  mornings,  and  she  left.  Her 
mother  said  she  wouldn't  "have  her  put  upon,"  and 
complained  that  Mrs.  Ransome  had  served  her 
something  shameful.  Ransome  hardly  liked  to  think 
how  Violet  could  have  served  the  little  girl. 

Before  long  he  had  an  inkling.  For  presently  a 
new  and  incredible  quality  revealed  itself  in  Violet. 

Up  till  now  she  had  never  been  unkind  to  the 
Baby.  She  had  neglected  it ;  she  had  been  indiffer- 
ent to  it;  but  it  had  seemed  impossible,  not  only  to 
Ransome,  but  to  Violet  herself,  that  she  could  be 
positively  unkind.  He  had  charged  the  neglect  to 
her  ignorance,  and  the  indifference  to  the  perversity 
of  her  passion  for  her  husband.  It  was  thus  that  his 
mother  had  explained  the  mystery,  and  at  moments 
it  looked  as  if  she  might  be  right. 

20I 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

But  now  that  the  little  thing  was  on  its  feet,  pad- 
ding about  with  a  pathetic  and  ridiculous  uncer- 
tainty, stumbling  and  upsetting  itself,  sitting  down 
suddenly,  and  clutching  at  things  as  it  overbalanced, 
and  dragging  them  with  it  in  its  fall,  Violet  could 
only  think  of  it  as  a  perfect  and  omnipresent  nui- 
sance, a  thing  inspired  to  torment  her  with  its 
malignant  and  deliberate  activity.  And  from  this 
she  went  on  to  think  of  it  as  grown-up  at  fifteen 
months,  a  mature  person,  infinitely  responsible.  Its 
misfortunes,  its  infirmities,  its  innocences  were 
counted  to  it  as  sins.  When  jam  spread  itself  over 
Baby's  face  and  buried  itself  in  Baby's  neck,  and 
leaped  forth  and  ran  down  to  the  skirts  of  its  cloth- 
ing. Baby  was  "a  nasty  little  thing!"  and  "a 
naughty,  naughty  girl!" 

Then  once,  in  a  fit  of  exasperation,  Violet  slapped 
Baby's  hands  and  found  such  blessed  relief  in  that 
exercise  that  the  slapping  habit  grew  on  her.  Cries 
of  anguish  went  up  from  Granville,  till  the  neighbors 
two  doors  on  either  side  complained. 

But  tiny  hands,  slapped  till  (as  she  said)  she  was 
tired  of  slapping  them,  gave  no  scope,  offered  no 
continuous  outlet  to  the  imprisoned  spirit  within. 
Violet,  under  a  supreme  provocation,  advanced  to 
arm-dragging  and  shaking. 

She  found  that  shaking  on  the  whole  did  her  most 
good. 

And  then,  one  Sunday  morning,  Ransome  caught 
her  at  it. 

He  caught  her,  coming  up  softly  behind  her  and 
pinning  her,  so  that  her  fingers  relaxed  their  hold, 
and  he  swung  her  from  him. 

"I'm  not  going  to  have  that,  my  girl,"  he  said. 
202 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  was  deadly  quiet  about  it;  and  the  deadliness 
and  quietness  subdued  her.  But  he  kept  the  child 
away  from  her  all  day  till  it  dropped  off  to  sleep  at 
bedtime. 

After  that  he  never  knew  another  peaceful  mo- 
ment. All  his  life  was  narrowed  suddenly  into  the 
circle  of  one  terror  and  one  care.  It  was  like  a  night- 
mare while  it  lasted.  And  it  tethered  him  tight. 
He  couldn't  get  off  by  himself  now  on  Saturdays 
and  Sundays,  for  he  was  afraid  to  leave  the  child 
with  Violet  and  Violet  with  the  child.  He  came 
pounding  home  from  Woolridge's  at  a  frantic  pace, 
for  he  never  knew  now  what  might  be  happening, 
what  might  have  happened  in  his  absence. 

And  so  on  to  the  last  days  of  July. 


In  that  month  Granville,  so  long  deteriorating, 
was  at  its  worst.  The  paper  on  the  walls  was 
blistering  here  and  there  like  the  paint;  the  red  and 
blue  roses  and  the  rosebuds  wilted,  with  an  effect 
of  putrefaction,  and  the  love  knots  faded. 

The  front  sitting-room,  furnished  so  proudly  and 
expensively,  had  been  long  abandoned  because  of 
the  attendance  it  exacted.  In  there  you  could 
positively  smell  the  dust.  The  pile  of  the  plush  held 
it  and  pierced  through  it,  as  grass  holds  and  pierces 
through  the  earth.  Ranny  had  a  landed  estate  in 
his  chairs  and  sofa.  And  the  bright  surfaces  of 
polished  wood  and  looking-glass  were  blurred  as  if 
the  breath  of  dissolution  had  passed  over  them. 
Ranny's  silver  prize  cups,  standing  in  a  row  on  the 
little  sideboard,  were  tarnished  every  one.  Violet 
had  no  pride  in  them.  That  sitting-room  was  not 
14  203 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

supposed  to  be  sat  in ;  yet  Ranny  sat  in  it  sometimes 
with  Baby,  as  a  refuge  from  the  other. 

For  the  other  was  awful.  It  had  the  look,  not 
only  of  being  lived  in,  but  of  having  lived ;  of  having 
Hved  hard,  brutally,  squalidly,  and  of  being  worn 
out.  A  room  of  which  Ranny  said  that,  go  into  it 
when  you  would,  it  looked  as  if  it  had  been  up  all 
night.  A  stained,  bleared  -  eyed,  knocked  -  kneed 
sinner  of  a  room. 

And  oh !  the  scullery,  where  the  shining  sink  had 
grown  a  gray,  rough  skin,  a  sort  of  fungoid  coat, 
from  the  grease  that  clung  to  it,  and  the  gas  stove, 
furred  with  rust,  skulked  like  some  obscene  monster 
in  its  comer.  He  was  afraid,  morally  and  physically 
afraid,  to  look  at  that  thing  of  infamy  behind  the 
back  door.  He  tried  to  pretend  the  scullery  wasn't 
there. 

And  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  through  the  fury  and 
the  stupor,  Violet  bloomed. 

That  was  what  he  could  not  understand;  how 
between  her  own  cruelty  and  that  squalor  she  had 
the  heart  to  bloom. 

He  dreaded  every  interruption  and  delay  that 
detained  him  at  Woolridge's,  every  chance  en- 
counter that  kept  him  from  that  lamentable  place 
where  he  feared  and  yet  desired  to  be. 

Yet  it  was  in  those  last  days  of  July  that  Gran- 
ville, as  if  it  had  passed  through  its  mortal  crisis, 
took,  suddenly,  a  turn  for  the  better. 

He  came  into  his  house  late  one  evening  and  found 
peace  and  order  there,  and  the  strange,  pungent 
smell  of  a  thorough  cleaning.  There  was  a  clean, 
white  cloth  spread  in  the  sitting-room  for  supper, 
spoons  and  forks,  and  the  china  on  the  dresser  and 

204 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

the  table  glistened;  everything  that  could  be  made 
to  shine  was  shining.  From  the  gas  stove  in  the 
scullery  there  came  the  alluring  smell  of  a  beefsteak 
pie  baking.  It  was  wonderful.  And  it  all  seemed 
to  have  been  done  by  some  divine,  invisible  agency. 
There  was  nobody  about;  not,  at  any  rate,  at  the 
back;  and  overhead  there  was  no  sound  of  foot- 
steps. 

He  was  gripped  by  a  sense  of  mystery,  almost  of 
disaster;  as  if  a  wonder  so  extreme  had  something 
ominous  in  it.  Then  he  went  into  the  front  sitting- 
room. 

On  the  plush  sofa,  which  had  been  moved  from 
its  place  against  the  wall  and  drawn  right  across 
the  bow  of  the  window,  Violet  lay,  veiled  from  the 
street  by  white  Nottingham  lace  curtains.  Pure 
white  they  were ;  such  whiteness  as  was  not  to  be  seen 
in  the  newest  houses  in  the  Avenue.  The  furniture 
had  been  polished  till  it  looked  like  new.  All  in  a 
row  Ranny's  silver  prize  cups  shone  again  as  on 
the  day  when  he  bore  them  from  the  field.  The 
smell  of  dust  was  gone.  Instead  of  it  there  came 
toward  him  a  sweet  smell  of  violets  and  of  woman's 
hair. 

On  the  sofa  in  the  window  Violet  lay  like  a 
suburban  odalisk,  voluptuous,  heavy-scented.  The 
flesh  of  her  neck  and  arms  showed  rosy  under  the 
thin,  white  muslin  of  her  gown  that  clung  to  her  in 
slender  folds  and  fell  away,  revealing  the  prone 
beauty  of  her  body.  The  dim  light  came  on  her 
through  the  Nottingham  lace  curtains,  as  light  might 
come  through  some  Oriental  lattice  of  fretted  ivory. 
She  bloomed,  like  a  heavy  flower,  languid,  sullen- 
sweet,  heavy-scented. 

205 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

It  was  Thursday,  the  twenty-fifth. 

Ransome  looked  about  him  and  smiled. 

"I  say,  this  is  a  bit  of  all  right.  Did  you  do  it 
yourself,  Vi?" 

Her  large  eyes  opened  on  him  in  the  pale  light; 
dark  they  were  with  a  sensuous  mockery  in  them. 

"Do  I  look  as  if  I'd  done  it  myself?"  she  said. 

She  certainly  didn't. 

"Did  you  get  a  woman  in,  then,  or  what?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment. 

"Yes.     I  got  a  woman  in." 

And  the  miracle  continued;  so  that  Ranny  said 
that  Granville  was  not  such  a  bad  little  fellow,  after 
all,  if  you  took  him  the  right  way  and  humored  him. 

Then  he  began  to  make  discoveries. 

The  first  was  on  the  Sunday  morning  when  he 
went  to  his  drawer  for  a  pair  of  clean  socks.  He 
had  no  hope  of  finding  so  much  as  one  whole  one. 
And  yet,  there  were  all  his  socks  sorted,  and  folded, 
and  laid  in  a  row;  and  every  single  one  of  them  had 
been  made  whole  with  exquisite  darning.  The  same 
with  his  shirts  and  vests  and  things;  and  they  had 
been  in  rags  when  he  had  last  looked  at  them.  And 
something  had  been  done  to  his  cuffs  and  collars, 
too. 

Then  there  was  the  Baby.  Her  hair,  that  used 
to  cling  to  her  little  head  in  flat  rings  as  her  sleep 
had  crushed  it,  was  all  brushed  up  and  fluffed  into 
feathery  ducks'  tails  that  shone  gold  in  gold.  She 
came  to  him  lifting  up  her  Httle  clean  pinafore  and 
frock  to  show  him.  She  knew  that  she  was  fascinat- 
ing. 

"It  must  be  Mother,  bless  her,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. 

»o6 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

But  it  wasn't  Mother;  or  if  it  was  she  lied  about  it. 

Then  Violet  let  it  out. 

It  was  on  the  night  of  Tuesday,  the  first  of  August, 
at  bedtime.  Ransome  was  leaning  over  the  cot 
where  the  Baby  lay,  tossed  half  naked  between  sleep 
and  waking,  drowsy  with  dreams.  She  was  ador- 
able with  her  Little  Rose  face  half  unfolded,  and 
the  Honey  pot  smell  of  her  silken  skin. 

Violet  stood  beside  him,  looking  at  the  two,  sul- 
lenly, but  with  a  certain  unwonted  tolerance.  She 
was  strange  and  still,  as  if  the  unquiet  spirit  that  had 
torn  her  was  appeased. 

"I  say,  it's  worth  while  keeping  this  kid  clean,  Vi. 
It  repays  you." 

"It  pays  Winny,  I  suppose.  Else  she  wouldn't 
do  it." 

"Winny?" 

"Yes.  What  are  you  staring  at?  She's  a  pretty 
kid,"  she  added,  as  if  the  admission  had  been  wrung 
from  her. 

"She's  not  been  here?"  said  Ransome. 

"Hasn't  she!  She  was  here  all  morning  and  all 
day  yesterday,  and  pretty  nearly  every  day  last 
week." 

* '  But — ^how  did  she  get  off  ?   Why — ^it's  sale-time !" 

"She's  chucked  them." 

"What's  she  done  that  for?" 

"You'd  better  ask  her." 

His  instinct  told  him  that  he  would  do  well  to 
let  it  pass.     He  said  no  more  that  night. 

But  in  the  morning,  over  his  hurried  breakfast, 
he  returned  to  it. 

"I  don't  like  this  about  Winny,"  he  said.  "Has 
she  got  another  job,  or  what?" 

207 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"She's  got  what  she  wanted." 

"What's  that?" 

"A  job  at  Johnson's." 

Johnson's  was  the  nev/  drapers  at  the  other  comer 
of  Acacia  Avenue,  opposite  the  chemist. 

"Johnson's?"  Ranny  could  not  conceal  his  inno- 
cent dismay.  Johnson's  operations  and  his  prem- 
ises were  so  diminutive  that  for  Winny — after 
Starker's — the  descent  seemed  awful. 

"Are  you  sure  she  wanted  it?" 

"She  must  have  wanted  it  pretty  badly  when 
she's  willing  to  take  seven  bob  a  week  less  screw. 
And  if  she'd  waited  till  Michaelmas  she'd  have  got 
her  rise." 

Ranny  bent  his  head  low  over  his  cup.  He  felt 
his  face  burning  with  a  shame  that  he  could  not 
comprehend.  He  knew^  that  Violet  was  looking  at 
him,  and  that  made  it  worse. 

"You  needn't  worry,"  she  was  saying.  "It  isn't 
your  fault  if  she  makes  a  fool  of  herself." 

"Makes  a  fool  of  herself?    What  do  you  mean?" 

The  heat  in  his  face  mounted  and  flamed  in  his 
ears;  and  he  knew  that  he  was  angry. 

''You  ought  to  know,"  she  sneered. 

He  was  hotter.     He  was  intolerably  hot. 

"I  don't,  then,"  he  retorted. 

"You  silly  cuckoo,  d'you  mean  to  say  you  don't 
know  she's  gone  on  you?  Lot  of  pains  she  takes  to 
hide  it.     You've  only  got  to  look  at  her  to  know." 

At  that  the  fire  in  him  blazed  out.  He  rose, 
bringing  his  fist  down  on  the  table. 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  he  said. 
"A  low  animal  wouldn't  say  a  thing  like  that. 
When  she's  been  so  good  to  you!    Where  would 

208 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

you  be,  I  should  like  to  know,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
Winny?" 

She  looked  at  him  under  her  lowered  brows;  and 
in  her  look  there  was  that  strange  tolerance,  and 
mockery,  and  a  feigned  surprise.  And  with  it  all  a 
sort  of  triumph,  as  if  she  were  rich  in  some  secret  and 
insolent  satisfaction  and  could  afford  her  tolerance. 

"Me?"  she  mocked.  "Do  you  suppose  it's  me 
she  comes  for?" 

"I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care.  But  as  long  as 
she  does  come  you've  got  to  be  decent  to  her.     See?" 

"I  am  decent  to  her.  I  don't  mind  her  coming. 
What  difference  does  it  make  to  me?" 

"I  should  say  it  makes  a  thundering  lot  of  differ- 
ence, if  you  ask  me.  Considering  the  work  you've 
managed  to  get  out  of  her  for  nothing." 

"It  isn't  my  business.  I  can't  help  it,  if  she  likes 
to  come  here  and  work  for  nothing." 

"You  make  me  sick,"  said  Ranny. 

His  eyelids  stung  him  as  if  they  had  been  cut  by 
little,  little  knives  close  under  the  eyeballs.  He 
turned  from  her,  shamed,  as  if  he  had  witnessed 
some  indecency,  some  outrage  on  a  beautiful  inno- 
cent thing. 

Outside  in  the  sunlight  his  tears  dazzled  him  an 
instant  and  sank  back  into  their  stinging  ducts. 


Yes,  it  had  stung  him.  And  he  had  got  to  end  it, 
somehow,  for  Winny's  sake.  He  had  no  idea  how 
to  set  about  it.  He  could  not  let  the  little  thing 
come  and  do  his  wife's  work  for  her,  like  that,  on  the 
sly,  for  nothing.  And  yet  he  could  not  tell  her  not 
to  come. 

209 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  he  asked  himself  again  and  again,  "Why,  why 
does  she  do  it?    Why?     Like  that — for  nothing?" 

His  heart  began  to  beat  uncomfortably,  trying  to 
tell  him  why.  But  he  did  not  listen  to  it.  He  was 
angry  with  his  heart  for  trying  to  tell  him  things  he 
did  not  know  and  did  not  want  to  know. 

No.  He  ought  not  to  let  her  keep  on  coming. 
But  what  was  he  to  do?  How  could  he  tell  her 
not  to  come? 

He  went  home  through  Wandsworth  that  evening 
and  called  at  St.  Ann's  Terrace.  Winny  was  there. 
She  came  down  to  him  where  he  waited  on  the  door- 
step. As  they  stood  there  he  could  see  over  the  low 
palings  of  the  gardens  the  window  of  the  little  house 
where  he  had  climbed  in  that  night,  that  Sunday 
night,  more  than  two  years  ago. 

He  said  he  had  come  to  ask  her  to  spend  Bank 
Holiday  with  them.  They  might  go  for  a  sort  of 
picnic  to  Richmond  Park,  and  she  must  come  back 
to  supper. 

That  was  his  idea,  his  solution,  his  inspiration; 
that  she  must  come;  that  she  must  be  asked,  must 
be  implored  to  come;  but  as  a  guest,  in  high  honor, 
and  in  festival. 

They  settled  it.     And  still  he  lingered  awkwardly. 

"I  say — is  it  true  that  you've  left  Starker's?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  you  do  that  for,  Winky?" 

He  did  not  know  that  he  was  going  to  ask  her 
that;   but  somehow  he  had  to. 

She  paused,  but  with  no  sign  of  embarrassment; 
looking  at  him  with  her  profound  and  placid  eyes. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  to  search  for  the  truth  before  she 
answered  him. 

210 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"I  thought  it  best,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  didn't 
want  to  stay." 

"Were  you  wise?" 

She  smiled. 

"Yes,  Ranny.     I  think  so," 

No.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  embarrassment 
about  her,  such  embarrassment  as  she  would  have 
been  bound  to  feel  if  Violet  had  been  right.  She  had 
spoken  in  measured  tones,  as  if  from  some  very 
serious,  secret,  and  sincere  conviction. 

She  went  on.  "You  see,  Maudie  won't  want  me 
any  more.  They're  going  to  be  married  when  Fred 
gets  his  holiday." 

"Yes.  But  it  isn't  such  a  good  thing  for  you, 
is  it?" 

Her  deed  thus  exposed,  presented  to  her  in  all  the 
high  folly  of  it,  she  seemed  to  flinch  as  if  she  herself 
were  struck  with  the  frightful  indiscretion  of  her 
descent  from  Starker's. 

"It's  quieter.     That's  more  what  I  want." 

He  smiled.  Pressed  home,  she  was  evasive  as  she 
had  ever  been. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  changing  the 
subject.     "You've  been  found  out." 

"Found  out,  Ranny?" 

"Yes.  What  have  you  been  about  this  last  week? 
I  can't  have  you  going  and  doing  Vi's  work  for  her, 
you  know." 

"Oh  that!  That  was  nothing.  I  just  put  things 
straight  a  bit,  and  now  she's  got  to  keep  them 
straight." 

He  sighed,  and  reverted.  "I  don't  like  your 
throwing  up  that  good  job.     I  don't  reelly." 

He  meant  to  go,  leaving  it  there,  all  that  she  had 

211 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

done,  unacknowledged,  unexplained  between  them, 
as  she  would  have  it  left.  And  instead  of  going  he 
stood  rooted  to  that  doorstep,  and  to  his  amazement 
he  heard  himself  saying,  "I  wish  I  could  do  some- 
thing for  you,  Winny." 

And  then  (he  took  his  own  breath  away  with  the 
abruptness  of  it).  "Look  here — why  not  come  and 
make  your  home  with  us,  when  Maudie's  married?" 

She  smiled  dimly,  as  if  she  hardly  saw  him,  as  if, 
instead  of  standing  beside  him  on  the  doorstep,  she 
were  saying  good-by  to  him  from  somewhere  a  long 
way  off. 

"Oh  no,  Ranny,  that  would  never  do." 

"Why  not?  There's  that  back  room  there  doing 
nothing.  We  don't  want  it.  You'd  be  welcome  to 
it  if  it  was  any  good." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "It's  very  kind  of 
you,  but  it  wouldn't  do.  It  really  wouldn't.  I 
don't  mean  the  room,  Ranny — it's  a  dear  little  room 
— I  mean — I  mean,  you  know " 

Now  at  last  she  was  embarrassed,  helpless,  shaken 
from  her  defenses  by  the  suddenness  of  his  proposal. 

"All  right,  Winky,"  he  said,  gently. 

Then  she  broke  down,  but  without  self-pity, 
tearless,  in  her  own  fashion. 

"Oh,  Ranny,  please  don't  think  I'm  horrid  and 
ungrateful." 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said,  feebly. 

He  turned  as  if  to  go;  but  she  recalled  him. 

"There's  one  thing  you  could  do,"  she  said. 

"What's  that?     I'll  do  anything." 

"Well — You  can  let  me  come  over  Saturdays  and 
Sundays  sometimes  and  look  after  Baby  while  you 
take  Violet  somewhere." 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  said  nothing,  and  she  went  on. 

"If  I  were  you,  Ranny,  I'd  take  her  somewhere 
every  week.     I'd  get  her  out  all  I  could." 

And  he  said  again  for  the  third  time,  very  humbly : 

"All  right." 

And  as  he  went  he  called  over  his  shoulder,  "Don't 
forget  Monday." 

As  if  she  was  hkely  to  forget  it! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AND,  after  all,  Monday,  that  is  to  say  the  day  at 
i\  Richmond,  never  came. 

On  Monday  morning  when  Violet  got  up  she  was 
seized  with  a  slight  dizziness  and  sickness.  It  passed 
off.  She  declared  that  earthquakes  shouldn't  stop 
her  going  to  Richmond,  and  dressed  herself  in  de- 
fiance of  all  possible  disturbance.  Ransome  took 
the  Baby  over  to  Wandsworth,  to  his  mother,  to  be 
looked  after.  At  ten  o'clock  he  joined  Winny  and 
Maudie  and  Fred  Booty  at  St.  Ann's  Terrace,  where 
they  had  arranged  that  Violet  was  to  meet  them. 
Following  on  her  bicycle,  she  would  be  there  at  ten 
sharp,  when  the  five  would  go  on  to  Richmond  by 
the  tram  that  passed  Winny 's  door. 

Ransome  had  no  sooner  left  Granville  than  Violet 
slipped  out  to  the  chemist's  at  the  comer. 

Ten  o'clock  struck,  and  the  quarter  and  the  half 
hour,  and  Violet  had  not  appeared  at  St.  Ann's 
Terrace. 

Ransome  proposed  that  the  others  should  go  on 
without  him ;  he  said  he  thought  there  must  be  some- 
thing wrong,  and  that  he  had  better  go  and  see  what 
had  happened.  They  argued  about  it  for  a  while, 
and  finally  Maudie  and  Fred  Booty  started.  Winny 
refused  flatly  to  go  with  them.  She  was  convinced 
that  they  would  meet  Violet  on  the  road  to  South- 
fields.     She  must  have  had  a  puncture,  Winny  said. 

214 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

But  they  did  not  meet  her. 

And  there  was  no  sign  of  her  downstairs  at  Gran- 
ville. 

"Hark!  What's  that?"  said  Winny,  listening  at 
the  foot  of  the  stair.     "Oh,  Ranny!" 

From  the  room  above  there  came  a  low,  half- 
stifled  sound  of  sobbing  and  groaning. 

He  dashed  upstairs. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  to  Winny  in  the  front 
sitting-room. 

"What's  the  matter?     Is  she  ill?"  she  said. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so.  She  won't  tell  me.  She's 
horribly  upset  about  something." 

"Shall  I  go  to  her?" 

"No;  better  not,  Winny.  Look  here,  she  won't 
come  to  Richmond.  She  says  we're  to  go  without 
her." 

"We  can't,  Ranny." 

' '  I  don't  know.  Upon  my  word,  I  think  we  may  as 
well.  She'll  be  more  upset  if  we  don't  go.  She  says 
she  wants  to  be  left  to  herself  for  one  day." 

A  sort  of  tremor  passed  over  her  eyes.  They  did 
not  look  at  him;  they  looked  beyond  him,  as  if  some- 
where they  saw  something  that  frightened  her. 

"You  mustn't  leave  her,  Ranny,"  she  said. 

He  laughed.  "She  doesn't  want  me.  She's  just 
told  me  so." 

"Whether  she  wants  you  or  not  you've  got  to  stay 
with  her." 

She  said  it  sternly. 

"I  say,  you  needn't  talk  like  that.  To  hear  you 
any  one  would  think  I  fair  neglected  her." 

She  bit  her  lip.  Her  eyes  wandered  in  their 
troubled  way.     She  looked  like  a  thing  held  there 

215 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

under  his  eyes  against  its  will  and  seeking  some  way 
of  escape. 

"I  don't  think  you  neglect  her,  Ranny,"  she  said 
at  last. 

"Well,  then,  what  do  you  think?" 

She  turned.  "I  think  I'm  going  for  a  little  spin 
somewhere  by  myself.  I  shall  come  back  in  time  for 
dinner.  Then  I  shall  go  down  to  Wandsworth  and 
fetch  Baby." 

'T'll  do  that." 

"No,  you  won't.    You'll  stay  with  Violet,"  she  said. 

"And  what  about  your  holiday?" 

"My  holiday's  all  right.     Don't  you  worry." 

She  was  out  of  the  house  and  in  the  garden. 
Mechanically  he  wheeled  her  bicycle  out  into  the 
road.     He  was  utterly  submissive  to  her  will. 

She  mounted,  and  he  ran  by  her  side ;  she  pressed 
on  her  pedals,  compelling  him  to  run  fast  and  faster ; 
she  set  her  mouth  hard,  grinning,  and  forced  the 
pace,  and  he  ran  at  the  top  of  his  speed  and  laughed. 
At  the  end  of  the  Avenue  she  turned,  waved  to  him 
gaily  and  was  gone. 

Upstairs  on  her  bed,  in  the  room  of  the  love 
knots,  Violet  lay  and  writhed.  She  lay  on  her  face. 
She  had  wetted  her  pillow  with  her  tears;  she  had 
flung  it  aside  and  was  digging  her  hands  into  Ran- 
some's  pillow  with  a  tearing,  disemboweling  motion. 
Every  now  and  then,  with  the  regularity  of  a  machine, 
she  gave  out  a  sob  and  a  groan  that  shook  her. 

He  found  her  so. 

She  turned  on  her  side  as  he  entered,  and  showed 
him  her  face  scarlet  and  swollen  with  crying. 

"What  have  you  come  for?"  she  said.  "I  told 
you  to  go." 

216 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"I  haven't  gone.     I'm  not  going." 

"But  you've  got  to  go.  You  shall  go,  D'you 
hear?  I  won't  have  you  hanging  about,  watching 
and  tormenting  me.  What  are  you  afraid  of? 
What  d'you  think  I'm  going  to  do?" 

She  turned  and  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and 
stared  about  her  as  if  at  a  host  of  enemies  surround- 
ing her,  then  she  sank  back  helpless. 

"Won't  you  tell  me  what  it  is,  Vi?"  he  said, 
tenderly. 

He  sat  beside  her,  leaning  over  into  her  hot  lair, 
and  made  as  though  he  would  have  put  his  hand  on 
her  shoulder.     She  writhed  from  him. 

"Why  can't  you  let  me  be,"  she  cried,  "when  I 
don't  want  you?  I  don't  want  you,  I  tell  you,  and 
I  wish  you'd  go  away.  You've  done  enough  harm 
as  it  is." 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  stood 
there,  regarding  her  somberly. 

"What  did  you  mean  by  that?  What  harm  have 
I  done  you?" 

She  had  flung  herself  down  again. 

"You  know — yoViknow,''sh.Q  moaned  into  the  pillow. 

"My  God,  I  wish  I  did!" 

Then  he  remembered. 

"Unless — ^you  mean — " 

"You  ought  to  know  what  I  mean  without  my 
telling  you." 

"Well,  if  I  do,  you  needn't  cast  it  up  to  me.  I 
married  you  right  enough,  Vi." 

"Yes,  that's  what  you  did.  And  that's  why  I 
hate  you." 

"It  seems  to  me  a  queer  reason.  But,  come  to 
that,  what  else  could  we  do?" 

217 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

She  sat  up,  pulling  herself  together  like  a  woman 
who  had  things  to  say  and  meant  to  say  them  now. 

"We  could  have  done  as  I  wanted.  We  could 
have  gone  on  as  we  were." 

"That's  what  you  wanted,  was  it?" 

"You  know  it  was.  I  never  asked  you  to  marry 
me.  I  asked  you  not  to.  And  you  would — you 
would.     I  didn't  want  to  marry  you." 

"And  why  didn't  you  want?  That's  what  I'd 
like  to  get  at?" 

"Because  I  knew  what  it  would  be." 

"Has  it  been  so  very  bad  then?" 

She  sat  up  straighter,  wringing  her  hands  as  if  she 
wrung  her  words  out.  "It's  been  awful — something 
awful.  All  the  things  I  don't  like — all  the  time. 
And  it's  made  me  hate  the  sight  of  you.  It's  made 
me  wish  I'd  died  before  I'd  seen  you.  And  I  want 
to  get  away.  I  want  to  get  out  of  this  horrid,  hateful 
little  house.    I  knew  I  would.     I  knew — I  knew " 

"My  God— if  7'd  known " 

"Youf  If  you'd  known!  I  wish  to  God  you  had. 
I  wish  you  had  just!  If  that  would  have  stopped 
you  marrying  me.  Oh,  you  knew  all  right;  only 
you  didn't  care.  You  never  have  cared.  I  suppose 
you  think  it's  what  I'm  made  for." 

"I  don't  follow.  It  may  be  all  wrong.  I'll  allow 
it  is  all  wrong,  all  the  time.  What  I  want  to  know 
is  what's  up  now?" 

"Can't  you  see  what's  up?     Can't  you  think?" 

He  thought.     And  presently  he  saw. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  it's — ^it's  another?" 

"  Of  course  it  is.  What  else  have  I  been  talking 
about?" 

"Are  you  sure,  Vi?" 

218 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  was  very  grave,  very  gentle. 

"Sure?  D'you  think  I  wouldn't  make  sure,  when 
it's  what  I'm  afraid  of  all  the  time?" 

* ' Don't  you  want  it  ?     Have  you  never  wanted  it  ?" 

"Want  it?  Want  it?  I'll  hate  it  if  it  comes. 
But  it  won't  come.  It  sha'n't  come.  I  won't 
have  it.  I  won't  live  and  have  it.  I  shall  die 
anyway." 

"Oh  no,  you  won't,"  he  said. 

But  she  flung  herself  back  and  writhed  and  sobbed 
again.  He  sat  down  and  watched  with  her.  In  si- 
lence and  utter  hopelessness  he  watched.  Presently 
she  lay  motionless,  worn  out. 


At  one  o'clock  Winny  knocked  at  the  door  and 
said  dinner  was  ready. 

Violet  stirred.  "What's  the  good  of  sitting  star- 
ing there  like  a  stuck  ox?"  She  raised  herself. 
"Since  you  are  there  you  can  get  me  that  eau-de- 
Cologne." 

He  brought  it.  He  bathed  her  hands  and  fore- 
head and  wiped  them  with  his  handkerchief. 

She  dragged  herself  downstairs  and  sat  red-eyed 
through  the  dinner,  the  materials  for  the  picnic  which 
Winny  had  unpacked  and  spread. 

The  day  wore  on,  Violet  dragged  herself  to  her 
bed  again,  and  lay  there  all  afternoon  while  Ran- 
some  hung  about  the  house  and  garden,  unable  to 
think,  unable  to  work,  or  take  an  interest  in  any- 
thing. He  was  oppressed  by  a  sense  of  irremediable 
calamity. 

At  four  o'clock  he  made  tea  and  took  it  to  Violet 
in  her  room. 

15  219 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

She  sat  up,  weak  and  submissive,  and  drank,  cry- 
ing softly. 

She  turned  her  face  to  him  as  she  sank  back  on 
her  pillow.  "I'm  sorry,  Ranny,"  she  said;  "but 
you  shouldn't  have  married  me.  I'm  not  that  sort. 
I  told  you;    and  you  see." 

He  could  not  remember  when  she  had  ever  told 
him.  But  it  was  clear  that  he  saw.  For  he  said 
to  himself,  "They  say  a  lot  of  things  they  don't 
mean  when  they're  like  this." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THAT  was  the  first  and  by  far  the  most  impres- 
sive of  their  really  great  scenes.  There  was  no 
doubt  about  it,  Violet  could  make  scenes,  and  there 
was  no  end  to  the  scenes  she  made.  But  those  that 
followed,  like  those  that  had  gone  before,  were  be- 
yond all  comparison  inferior.  They  lacked  vehe- 
mence, vividness,  intensity.  After  that  first  passion 
of  resentment  and  revolt  Violet  declined  upon  sul- 
lenness  and  flat,  monotonous  reproach. 

Ransome  put  it  all  down  to  her  condition.  He  set 
his  mouth  with  a  hard  grin  and  stuck  it.  He  told 
himself  that  he  had  no  illusions  left,  that  he  saw  the 
whole  enormous  folly  of  his  marriage,  and  that  he  saw 
it  sanely,  as  Violet  could  not  see  it,  without  passion, 
without  revolt,  without  going  back  for  one  moment 
on  anything  that  he  or  she  had  done.  He  saw  it 
simply  as  it  was,  as  a  thing  that  had  to  be.  She, 
being  the  more  deeply  injured  of  the  two,  must  be 
forgiven  her  inability  to  see  it  that  way.  He  had 
done  her  a  wrong  in  the  beginning  and  he  had  made 
reparation,  and  it  was  not  the  reparation  she  had 
wanted.  She  had  never  reproached  him  for  that 
wrong  as  many  women  would  have;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  remembered  how,  on  the  night  when  it 
was  done,  she  had  turned  to  comfort  him  with  her 
"It  had  got  to  be."  She  had  been  generous.  She 
had  never  hinted  at  reparation.  No;  she  certainly 
had  not  asked  him  to  marry  her. 

221 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

But  that  also  had  had  to  be.  They  couldn't  help 
themselves.  They  had  been  caught  up  and  flung 
together  and  carried  away  in  a  maze ;  like  the  Com- 
bined Maze  at  the  Poly.,  it  was,  when  they  had  to 
run — to  run,  locked  together. 

What  weighed  on  him  most  for  the  moment  was 
the  financial  problem.  He  lived  in  daily  fear  of 
not  being  able  to  pay  his  way  without  breaking  into 
the  rest  of  his  small  savings.  His  schemes,  that  had 
looked  so  fine  on  paper,  had  left,  even  on  paper, 
no  margin  for  anything  much  beyond  rent  and  cloth- 
ing and  their  weekly  bills.  There  had  been  no  mar- 
gin at  all  for  Baby;  Baby  who,  above  all,  ought  to 
have  been  foreseen  and  provided  for.  Baby  had 
been  paid  for  out  of  capital.  So  that  from  the  sor- 
did financial  point  of  view  Violet's  discovery  was  a 
calamity. 

It  was  a  mercy  he  had  got  his  rise  at  Michaelmas. 
But  even  so  they  were  behindhand  with  their  bills. 
That,  of  course,  would  not  have  happened  if  he 
hadn't  had  to  buy  a  new  suit  that  winter.  Ranny 
had  found  out  that  his  bicycle,  though  it  diminished 
his  traveling  expenses  and  kept  him  fit,  was  simply 
"ruination"  to  his  clothes. 

It  was  awful  to  be  behindhand  with  the  bills. 
But  if  they  got  behind  with  the  rent  they  would  be 
done  for.  He  would  lose  Granville.  His  rent  was 
not  as  any  ordinary  rent  that  might  be  allowed  to 
run  on  for  a  week  or  two  in  times  of  stress.  Gran- 
ville was  relentless  in  exaction  of  the  weekly  tribute. 
If  payments  lapsed,  he  lost  Granville  and  he  lost 
the  twenty-five  pounds  down  he  paid  for  it. 

And  Granville,  that  scourged  him,  was  itself 
scourged  of  Heaven.     That  winter  the  frosts  bound 

322 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

the  walls  too  tight  and  the  thaws  loosened  them. 
The  rain,  beating  through  from  the  southwest, 
mildewed  the  back  sitting-room  and  the  room  above 
it.  The  wind  made  of  Granville  a  pipe,  a  whistle, 
a  Jew's  harp  to  play  its  tunes  on ;  such  times  as  set 
your  teeth  on  edge. 

Ransome  said  to  himself  bitterly  that  his  marriage 
had  not  been  his  only  folly.  He  should  have  had 
the  sense  to  do  as  Booty  had  done.  Fred  had  mar- 
ried soon  after  Michaelmas,  when  he  too  had  got  his 
rise.  He  and  Maudie  had  not  looked  upon  houses 
to  their  destruction;  they  had  simply  taken  another 
room  in  St.  Ann's  Terrace  where  she  had  lived  with 
Winny.  And  she  had  kept  her  job  at  Starker's, 
and  meant  to  keep  it  for  another  year  or  so.  Fred 
wasn't  going  to  have  any  kids  he  couldn't  provide 
for.     Ranny's  case  had  been  a  warning  to  him. 

And  Ranny's  case  was  lamentable  that  winter, 
after  he  had  paid  for  his  suit.  They  lived  almost 
entirely  now  on  hampers  sent  from  Hertfordshire. 
The  hampers  were  no  longer  treated  as  mysterious 
windfalls ;  they  came  regularly  once  a  week,  and  were 
shamefully  and  openly  allowed  for  in  the  accounts. 
And  regularly  once  a  week  the  young  Ransomes  had 
their  Sunday  dinner  at  Wandsworth;  they  reckoned 
it  as  one  square  meal. 

All  this  squeezing  and  pinching  was  to  pay  for  a 
little  girl  to  look  after  Baby  in  the  mornings.  They 
had  found  another,  and  had  contrived  to  keep  her. 
For  Violet,  though  she  went  on  making  scenes  with 
Ranny,  was  quiet  enough  now  when  Ranny  wasn't 
there,  if  only  Baby  was  kept  well  out  of  her  way. 
In  the  autumn  months  and  in  the  early  winter  she 
even  had  her  good  days,  days  of  passivity,  days  of 

223 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

exaltation  and  of  rapt  brooding,  days  when  she  went 
as  if  sustained  by  some  mysterious  and  secret  satis- 
faction, some  agreeable  reminiscence  or  anticipa- 
tion. And  if  Ransome  never  noticed  that  these 
days  were  generally  Thursdays,  it  was  because 
Thursday  (early-closing  day  in  Southfields)  had  no 
interest  or  significance  for  Ranny.  And  of  all 
Violet's  moods  he  found  the  one  simple  explanation 
in  her  state. 


On  the  whole,  he  observed  a  change  for  the  better 
in  his  household.  Things  were  kept  straighter. 
There  was  less  dust  about,  and  Ranny's  prize  cups 
had  never  ceased  to  shine.  His  socks  and  vests 
were  punctually  mended,  and  Baby  at  his  home- 
coming was  always  neat  and  clean.  He  knew  that 
Winny  had  a  hand  in  it.  For  Winny,  established 
at  Johnson's  at  the  comer,  was  free  a  good  half  hour 
before  he  could  get  back  from  Oxford  Street;  and 
as  often  as  not  he  found  her  putting  Baby  to  bed  when 
Violet  was  out  or  lying  down.  But  he  did  not  know, 
he  was  nowhere  near  knowing,  half  the  things  that 
Winny  did  for  them.  He  didn't  want  to  know. 
All  that  he  did  know  made  him  miserable  or  pleased 
him  according  to  his  mood.  Of  course  it  couldn't 
really  please  him  to  think  that  Winny  worked  for 
him  for  nothing;  but  to  know  that  she  was  there, 
moving  about  his  house,  loving  and  caring  for  his 
child  as  he  loved  and  cared  for  it,  whether  it  was  sick 
or  well,  clean  or  dirty,  gave  him  pleasure  that  when 
he  thought  about  it  too  much  became  as  poignant 
as  pain.  For  there  was  nothing,  absolutely  nothing, 
that  he  could  do  for  Winny  to  repay  her.     He  did 

224 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

not  know  that  Winny  paid  herself  in  a  thousand 
inimitable  sensations  every  time  she  touched  the 
things  that  he  had  touched,  or  that  belonged  to  him; 
that  with  every  stitch  she  put  into  his  poor  clothes 
her  fingers  satisfied  their  longing,  as  it  were,  in  an 
attenuated,  reiterated  caress;  that  to  feel  the  silken 
flesh  of  his  child  against  her  flesh  was  for  Winny  to 
know  motherhood. 

Her  life  had  in  it  the  wonder  and  beauty  and 
mystery  of  religion.  All  the  religion  that  she  knew 
was  in  each  service  that  she  did  for  Ranny  in  his 
house.  Acacia  Avenue,  with  its  tufted  trees,  with 
its  rows  of  absurd  and  pathetic  and  diminutive 
villas,  was  for  Winny  a  shining  walk  between  heaven- 
ly'- mansions.  She  handled  each  one  of  Ranny 's 
prize  cups  as  if  it  had  been  the  Holy  Grail. 

And  religion  went  hand  in  hand  with  an  exquisite 
iniquity.  In  all  that  she  did  there  was  something 
unsanctioned,  something  that  gave  her  the  secret  and 
essential  thrill  of  sin.  When  Winny  made  that 
beefsteak  pie  for  Ranny  she  had  her  first  taste  of 
fearful,  deHcious,  illegitimate  joy.  For  it  was  not 
right  that  she  should  be  there  making  beefsteak 
pies  for  Ranny.  It  was  Violet  who  should  have  been 
making  beefsteak  pies.  But  once  plunged  in  Winny 
couldn't  stop.  She  went  on  till  she  had  mended  all 
Ranny 's  clothes  and  sewed  new  Poly,  ribbon  on  all 
the  vests  he  ran  in.  She  loved  those  vests  more 
than  anything  he  wore.  They  belonged  to  the  old 
splendid  Ranny  who  had  once  been  hers. 

And  under  it  all  (if  she  had  cared  to  justify  her- 
self), under  the  mystery  and  the  beauty  and  the 
wonder,  there  was  the  sound,  practical  common  sense 
of  it  all.     As  long  as  Violet  was  comfortable  with 

225 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Ranny  she  would  stay  with  him.  But  she  would  not 
be  comfortable  if  she  had  too  many  things  to  do; 
and  if  she  became  uncomfortable  she  would  leave 
him;  and  if  she  left  him  Ranny  would  be  unhappy. 
So  that  the  more  you  did  for  her  the  more  likely 
she  was  to  keep  straight.  Keeping  Violet  straight 
had  always  been  Winny's  job;  it  always  would  be; 
and  she  was  more  than  ever  bound  to  stick  to  it 
now  that  it  meant  keeping  Ranny's  home  together. 
In  Winny's  eyes  the  breaking  up  of  a  home  was  the 
most  awful  thing  that  could  happen  on  this  earth. 
In  Leonard  Mercier  (established  so  dangerously 
near)  she  recognized  a  possible  leader  of  the  forces 
of  disruption.  When  she  left  Starker's  for  John- 
son's (where,  as  she  put  it  to  herself,  she  could  look 
after  Violet),  she  had  hurled  her  small  body  into  the 
first  breach.  Johnson's  was  invaluable  as  a  position 
whence  she  could  reconnoiter  all  the  movements  of 
the  enemy. 

But  it  was  a  strain  upon  the  heart  and  upon  the 
nerves;  and  the  effect  on  Winny's  physique  was  so 
evident  that  Ranny  noticed  it.  He  noticed  that 
Winny  was  more  slender  and  less  sturdy  than  she 
used  to  be;  her  figure,  to  his  expert  eye,  suggested 
the  hateful  possibility  of  flabbiness.  He  thought 
he  had  traced  the  deterioration  to  its  source  when  he 
asked  her  if  she  had  chucked  the  Poly. 

She   had. 

What  did  she  do  that  for?  Well— she  didn't 
think  she  cared  much  for  the  Poly.  now.  It  was 
different  somehow.  At  least  that  was  the  way  she 
felt  about  it.  ("Same  here,"  said  Ranny.)  And  she 
couldn't  keep  up  like  she  did.  The  running  played, 
her  out. 

226 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  saw  her,  then,  a  tired,  indifferent  little  figure, 
padding  through  the  circles  and  the  patterns  of  the 
Combined  Maze;  padding  listlessly,  wearily,  with  all 
the  magic  and  the  joy  gone  out  of  her. 

"We  had  grand  times  there  together,"  he  said 
then.     "Do  you  remember  the  Combined  Maze?" 

She  remembered. 

"Sometimes  I  think  that  life's  like  that — a  maze, 
Winny.  A  sort  of  Combined  Maze — men  and 
women — mixed  up  together." 

She  thought  so  too. 


Violet  had  got  used  to  Winny's  being  there.  She 
took  it  for  granted,  as  if  it  also  were  one  of  those 
things  that  had  to  be.  She  depended  on  it,  and 
owned  herself  dependent.  When  Winny  was  there, 
she  said,  things  went  right,  and  when  she  wasn't 
there  they  went  wrong.  She  didn't  know  how  they 
had  ever  got  along  without  her. 

Ransome  was  surprised  to  see  in  Violet  so  large  a 
heart  and  a  mind  so  open.  For  not  only  did  she 
tolerate  Winny,  she  clung,  he  could  see  that  she 
clung,  to  her  like  a  child.  She  even  tolerated  what  he 
woiildn't  have  thought  a  woman  would  have  stood 
for  a  single  instant,  the  fact,  the  palpable  fact,  that 
Ranny  couldn't  get  along  without  her  any  more 
than  she  could. 

And  if  they  could,  the  Baby  couldn't.  Baby  (she 
was  Dorothy  now  and  Dossie)  cried  for  Winny  when 
Winny  wasn't  there.  She  would  run  from  her 
mother's  voice  to  hide  her  face  in  Winny's  skirts. 
Baby  wasn't  ever  really  happy  without  Winny. 

That  was  how  she  had  them,  and  she  knew  it, 
227 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

and  the  Baby  knew  it;  and  the  two  of  them  simply 
rode  roughshod  over  Ranny  and  his  remonstrances. 

"What  are  you  doing  there,  Winky?"  he  would 
say,  when  he  caught  her  on  a  Sunday  morning  in 
the  bathroom,  with  Baby  happy  on  a  blanket  at  her 
feet. 

"Washing  Dossie's  pinafores,"  she  would  sing 
out. 

"I  wish  to  Goodness  I  could  stop  you." 

"But  you  can't.  Can  he,  Lamby.Lamb?  Laugh 
at  him,  then.     Laugh  at  Daddy." 

And  the  Lamby  Lamb  would  laugh. 

He  knew,  and  they  knew,  that  he  couldn't  stop 
her  except  by  doing  the  work  for  her;  and  the  more 
things  he  did  the  more  things  she  found  to  do  that 
he  couldn't  do,  such  as  washing  pinafores.  So  he 
gave  it  up;  and  gradually  he  too  began  to  take  it 
for  granted  that  Winny  should  be  there. 

And  she  was  more  than  ever  there  after  April  of 
nineteen-seven,  when  the  little  son  was  bom.  The 
little  son  that  they  called  Stanley  Fulleymore. 

When  he  came  more  and  more  of  Ranny 's  savings 
had  to  go.  He  didn't  care.  For  he  had  gone  again 
through  deep  anguish,  again  believing  that  Violet 
would  die,  that  she  couldn't  possibly  get  over  it. 
And  she  had  got  over  it ;  beautifully,  the  doctor  said. 
He  assured  him  that  she  hadn't  turned  a  hair.  And 
after  it  she  bloomed  as  she  had  never  bloomed  be- 
fore; she  bloomed  to  excess;  she  coarsened  in  sheer 
exuberance  and  rioting  of  health.  She  was  built 
magnificently,  built  as  they  don't  seem  able  to  build 
women  now,  built  for  maternity. 

"You  don't  think,"  said  Ranny  to  the  doctor, 
"that  it  really  does  her  any  harm?" 

228 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

For  she  had  tried  to  frighten  him  with  the  harm 
she  said  it  did  her. 

"My  dear  Ransome,  if  she  had  a  dozen  children 
it  wouldn't  do  her  any  harm." 

It  was  the  same  tale  as  before,  and  he  couldn't 
understand  it.  For  of  the  flame  of  maternity,  the 
flame  that  burned  in  Winny,  it  was  evident  that  Vio- 
let hadn't  got  a  spark.  If  she  had  been  indifferent 
to  her  daughter  Dorothy,  she  positively  hated  her 
son,  Stanley  Fulleymore.  She  intimated  that  he  was 
a  calamity,  and  an  ugly  one  at  that.  One  kid,  she 
said,  was  bad  enough;  what  did  he  expect  that  she 
should  do  with  two? 

She  did  nothing;  which  was  what  he  had  expected. 
She  trailed  about  the  house,  glooming;  she  sank 
supine  under  her  burden  and  lay  forever  on  the  sofa. 
When  he  tried  to  rouse  her  she  biu-st  into  fury  and 
collapsed  in  stupor.  The  furies  and  the  stupors 
were  worse  than  he  had  ever  known.  They  would 
have  been  unendurable  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Winny. 

And  in  the  long  days  when  Winny  was  not  there 
he  was  always  afraid  of  what  might  happen  to  the 
children.  He  had  safeguarded  them  as  far  as  pos- 
sible. He  had  engaged  an  older  and  more  expensive 
girl,  who  came  from  nine  to  six,  five  days  a  week  and 
Saturday  morning.  Soon  after  six  Winny  would 
be  free  to  run  in  and  wash  the  Baby  and  put  Dossie 
to  bed. 

Shamelessly  he  accepted  this  service  from  her;  for 
he  was  at  his  wits'  end.  As  often  as  not  he  took 
Violet  out  somewhere  (to  appease  the  restlessness 
that  consumed  her),  leaving  Winn^^  in  charge  of  the 
babies.     Winny  had  advised  it,  and  he  had  grown 

229 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

dependent  on  her  judgment.     He  considered  that  if 
anybody  understood  Violet  it  was  Winny. 

And  slowly,  month  by  month,  the  breach  that 
Winny  had  hurled  herself  into  widened.  It  was  as 
if  she  stood  in  it  with  arms  stretched  wide,  holding 
out  a  desperate  hand  to  each  of  them. 

Everything  conspired  to  tear  the  two  asunder. 
In  summer  the  heat  of  the  small  rooms  became  in- 
tolerable. Ransome  proposed  that  he  should  sleep 
in  the  back  bedroom  and  leave  more  air  for  Violet 
and  the  children. 

Violet  was  sullen  but  indifferent.  "If  you  do," 
she  said,  "you'll  take  Dossie.     I  won't  have  her." 

He  took  Dossie.  The  Baby  was  safe  enough  for 
all  her  dislike  of  it,  and  for  all  it  looked  so  sickly. 
For  it  slept.  It  slept  astoundingly.  It  slept  all 
night  and  most  of  the  day.  There  never  was  such 
a  sleeper. 

He  thought  it  was  a  good  sign.  But  when  he  said 
so  to  Winny  she  looked  grave,  so  grave  that  she 
frightened  him. 

Then  suddenly  the  Baby  left  off  sleeping.  In- 
stead of  sleeping  he  cried.  He  cried  piteously,  in- 
veterately;  he  cried  all  night  and  most  of  the  day. 
He  never  gave  them  any  peace  at  all.  His  crying 
woke  Httle  Dossie,  and  she  cried;  it  kept  Ransome 
awake;  it  kept  Violet  awake,  and  she  cried,  too, 
hopelessly,  helplessly;  she  was  crushed  by  the  ever- 
lasting, irremediable  wrong. 

And  it  was  then,  in  those  miserable  days,  that 
she  turned  on  Winny,  until  Ransome  turned  on 
her. 

"It's  shameful  the  way  you  treat  that  girl,  after 
all  she's  done  for  you." 

230 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"What's  she  been  telling  you?"  There  was  fright 
in  Violet's  eyes. 

"She's  not  told  me  anything.  I've  got  eyes.  I 
can  see  for  myself." 

"Oh,  you've  got  eyes,  have  you?  Jolly  lot  you 
see!" 

But  she  was  penitent  that  night  and  asked  Winny 
to  forgive  her.  She  implored  her  not  to  leave  off 
coming. 

And  Winny  came  and  went  now  in  pain  instead 
of  joy.  Everything  in  Ranny's  house  pained  her. 
Violet's  voice  that  filled  it  pained  her,  and  the  cry- 
ing of  the  Httle  children.  Ranny's  face  pained  her. 
Most  of  all  it  pained  her  to  see  Dossie's  little  cot 
drawn  up  beside  Ranny's  bed  in  the  back  room; 
they  looked  so  forlorn,  the  two  of  them;  so  outcast 
and  so  abandoned. 

She  went  unhindered  and  unheeded  into  Ranny's 
room,  tidying  it  and  putting  the  little  girl  to  bed. 
But  into  Violet's  room  she  would  not  go  more  than 
she  could  help.  She  hated  Violet's  room;  she 
loathed  it;   and  she  dared  not  think  why. 


One  Saturday  evening  in  the  last  week  of  Septem- 
ber Ransome  had  come  home  late  after  a  long 
solitary  ride  in  the  country.  Violet,  who  was  busy 
making  a  silk  blouse  for  herself,  had  refused  to  go 
with  him.  Winny  had  laid  it  down  as  a  law  for 
Ranny  that  Violet  was  never  to  be  left  for  very  long 
to  herself,  if  he  wanted  her  to  be  happy.  And,  of 
course,  he  wanted  her  to  be  happy.  But  if  ever 
there  was  a  moment  when  he  could  leave  her  with  a 
clear  conscience  it  was  when  she  was  dressmaking. 

23T 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

She  gave  herself  to  it  with  passion,  with  absorption. 
He  had  known  her  to  sit  for  hours  over  a  new  blouse 
in  apparently  perfect  happiness. 

And  to-day  he  could  have  sworn  that  she  was 
happy.  She  had  risen  of  her  own  accord  and  kissed 
him  good-by  and  told  him  to  enjoy  himself  and  not 
hurry  home.  She  would  be  all  right,  and  Winny 
had  said  she  would  drop  in  for  tea.  He  left  her 
sewing  white  lace  onto  blue  silk  in  a  matchless 
tranquilHty. 

And  he  had  enjoyed  his  ride,  and  he  had  not  hur- 
ried home,  for  he  knew  that  the  children  would  be 
all  right  (even  if  Violet's  happy  mood  had  changed) 
as  long  as  Winny  was  there  to  look  after  them. 

He  rode  far  out  into  the  open  country,  into  the 
deep-dipping  lanes,  between  fields,  and  through  lands 
scented  with  autumn.  And  as  he  rode  he  was  a  boy 
again.  Never  since  his  marriage  had  he  known  such 
joy  in  freedom  and  such  ecstasy  in  speed.  There 
was  a  wind  that  drove  him  on,  and  the  great  clouds 
challenged  him  and  raced  with  him  as  he  went. 

He  came  home  against  the  wind,  but  that  was 
nothing.  The  wind  was  a  challenge  and  a  defiance 
of  his  strength;  it  set  the  blood  racing  in  his  veins, 
and  cooled  it  in  his  face  when  it  burned.  It  was 
good  to  be  challenged  by  the  wind  and  to  defy  it. 
It  was  good  to  struggle.  It  was  all  good  that  hap- 
pened to  him  on  that  day. 

Night  had  fallen  when  he  returned.  Granville 
was  lit  up  behind  its  yellow  blinds.  Winny  stood 
at  the  open  door  with  the  lighted  passageway  behind 
her.  Granville  in  the  autumnal  dark,  with  the  gas 
turned  full  on  inside  it,  looked  all  light,  all  quiet 
flame,  as  if  the  walls  that  were  the  substance  of  it 

232 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

had  been  cut  clean  away,  leaving  a  mere  shell,  a 
mere  framework  for  its  golden  incandescence. 

So  small,  so  fragile,  so  insubstantial  was  the  shell, 
that  Winny's  slight  hgure  in  the  doorway  showed  in 
proportion  solid  and  solitary  and  immense,  as  if  it 
sustained  the  perishable  fabric. 

She  was  leaning  forward  now,  bearing  up  the  shell 
on  her  shoulders.  She  was  looking  out,  up  and  down 
the  Avenue. 

"That  you,  Winny?"  he  said. 

"Yes.     I'm  looking  for  Vi." 

"She  gone  out?" 

"Gone  into  Wandsworth." 

"What  did  she  go  for?" 

"To  have  a  dress  tried  on." 

"I  say,  she  is  going  it!" 

"There's  a  girl  in  St.  Ann's,"  said  Winny,  "what 
makes  for  her  very  cheap." 

He  sighed  and  checked  his  sigh.  "You  bin 
slavin',  Win?" 

"No.     Why?" 

"You  looked  fagged  out." 

Winny's  face  was  white  under  the  gaslight. 

She  said  nothing.  She  stood  there  looking  out 
while  he  propped  his  bicycle  up  against  the  window 
sill. 

He  followed  as  she  turned  slowly  and  went  through 
the  passage  to  the  back  room. 

"Kids  asleep?" 

"Yes.     Fast." 

She  went  to  the  dresser,  and  he  helped  her  to  take 
down  the  cups  and  plates  and  set  the  table  for  their 
supper.  In  all  her  movements  there  was  a  curious 
slowness  and  constraint,  as  if  she  were  spinning  time 

233 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

out,  thread  by  thread.     It  was  five-and- twenty  past 
eight. 

"Who's  that  for?"  she  asked  as  he  laid  a  third 
place  at  the  side. 

"Well,  I  should  think  it  was  for  you." 

She  started  ever  so  sHghtly,  and  stared  at  the 
three  plates,  as  if  their  number  put  her  out  in  some 
intricate  calculation. 

"I  must  be  going,"  she  said. 

"Not  you.     Not  much!" 

She  submitted,  moving  uneasily  about  the  place, 
but  busy,  folding  things  and  putting  them  away. 
He  ran  upstairs  to  wash.  She  could  hear  him  over- 
head, splashing,  rubbing,  and  brushing. 

When  he  came  down  again  she  was  sitting  on  the 
sofa  with  her  hands  clasped  in  front  of  her,  her  head 
bent,  her  eyes  fixed,  gazing  at  the  floor. 

"I  suppose  we've  got  to  wait  for  Vi,"  he  said. 

"Oh  yes." 

They  waited. 

"I  say,  it's  a  quarter  to  nine,  you  know,"  he  said, 
presently. 

"Hungry,  Ran?" 

."My  word!     I  should  think  I  was  just.     D'you 
think  she's  gone  to  Mother  and  had  supper  there?" 

"She — might  have." 

"Well,  then,  let's  begin.     Come  along." 

She  shook  her  head.  There  was  a  slight  spasm  in 
her  throat  as  if  the  idea  of  food  sickened  her. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Nothing — nothing.  I'm  all  right.  I  don't  want 
to  cat  anything,  that's  all.     I  must  be  going  soon." 

"You're  tired  out.  Win.  You've  got  past  it. 
Tell  you  what,  I'll  make  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

234 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"No,  Ranny,  don't.     I'd  rather  not." 

She  rose,  and  yet  she  did  not  go.  He  had  never 
known  Winny  so  undecided. 

Then  suddenly  she  stooped.  On  the  floor  of  the 
hearth  rug  she  had  caught  sight  of  some  bits  of  blue 
silk  left  from  Violet's  sewing.  With  an  almost 
feverish  concentration  of  piu-pose  she  picked  up  each 
one  of  the  scraps  and  snippets ;  she  threw  them  on  the 
hearth.  Slowly,  deliberately,  spinning  out  her  thread 
of  time,  she  gathered  what  she  had  strewed;  she 
gathered  into  a  handful  the  Httle  scraps  and  snippets 
of  blue  silk,  powdered  with  the  gray  ashes  from  the 
hearth,  and  dropped  them  in  the  fire,  watching  till 
the  last  shred  w^as  utterly  destroyed. 

There  was  a  faint  cry  overhead  and  Ransome 
started  up. 

The  cry  or  his  movement  clenched  her  resolution. 

"/'//  go,  Ranny,"  she  said. 

And  as  she  went  she  drew  a  letter  in  a  sealed 
envelope  from  the  bosom  of  her  gown  and  laid  it  on 
the  table. 

"Vi  said  I  was  to  give  you  that  if  she  wasn't  back 
by  eight.     It's  nine  now." 

He  stared  and  let  her  go.  He  waited.  He  was 
aware  of  her  footsteps  in  the  front  room  upstairs, 
of  the  baby  crying,  and  of  the  sudden  stilling  of  his 
cry.     Then  he  opened  the  letter. 

He  read  in  Violet's  tottering,  formless  hand- 
writing : 

Dear  Randall, — This  is  to  let  you  know  I've  gone  and  that  I'm 
not  coming  back  again.  I  stuck  to  you  as  long  as  I  could,  but  it  was 
misery.  You  and  me  aren't  suited  to  live  together,  and  it's  no  use 
us  going  on  any  more  pretending.  If  you'd  take  me  back  to-morrow 
I  wouldn't  come.  I  can't  live  without  Leonard  Mercier,  nor  he 
without  me.  I  dare  say  you  know  it's  him  I've  gone  with. 
16  235 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

We're  awfully  sorry  for  all  the  trouble  we're  bringing  on  you. 
But  we  couldn't  help  ourselves.  We  were  driven  to  it.  I've  been 
off  my  head  all  this  year  thinking  how  I  must  do  it,  and  all  the  time 
being  afraid  to  take  the  step.  And  ever  since  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  it  I've  been  quiet  inside  and  happy,  which  looks  as  if  it  was  meant 
and  had  got  to  be. 

You  needn't  blame  Leonard.  He  held  off  till  he  couldn't  hold 
off  any  more,  because  he  was  a  friend  of  yours  and  didn't  want  to 
hurt  you.  It  was  really  me  made  him.  It's  a  tragedy,  but  it  would 
be  a  bigger  tragedy  if  we  didn't,  for  we  belong  to  one  another.  And 
he's  taking  me  to  Paris  to  live  so  as  nobody  need  know  anything 
about  it.  He's  got  a  post  in  a  shop  there.  And  we're  starting  on  a 
Saturday  so  as  you  can  have  Sunday  to  turn  round  in. 

You'U  forgive  me,  Ranny  dear.  It's  what  I've  always  told  you — 
you  shouldn't  have  married  me.  You  should  have  married  a  girl 
like  Winny.  She  was  always  fond  of  you.  It  was  a  lie  what  I 
told  you  once  about  her  not  being.  I  said  it  because  I  was  mad  on 
you,  and  I  knew  you'd  marry  her  if  I  let  you  alone.  So  you  can 
say  it's  all  my  faiilt,  if  you  like. 

Yours  truly, 

[she  had  hesitated,  with  some  erasures,  over  the  form  of  valedic- 
tions] 

Vi. 

There  was  a  postscript: 

"You  can  do  anything  you  like  to  me  as  long  as 
you  don't  touch  Leonard.  It's  not  his  fault  my  car- 
ing for  him  more  than  you." 

And  in  a  small  hand  squeezed  into  the  margin 
he  made  out  with  difficulty  two  more  lines.  "You 
needn't  be  afraid  of  being  fond  of  Baby.  There  was 
never  anything  between  me  and  Leonard  before 
July  of  last  year." 

He  did  not  read  it  straight  through  all  at  once. 
He  stuck  at  the  opening  sentence.  It  stupefied  him. 
Even  when  he  took  it  in  it  did  not  tell  him  plainly 
what  it  was  that  she  had  done  besides  going  away 
and  not  coming  back  again.  It  was  as  if  his  mind 
were  unable  to  deal  with  more  than  one  image  at  a 

236 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

time,  as  if  it  refused  to  admit  the  hidden  significance 
of  language. 

Realization  came  with  the  shock  of  the  name  that 
struck  at  him  suddenly  out  of  the  page  in  a  flash 
that  annihilated  the  context.  The  name  and  his 
intelligence  leaped  at  each  other  and  struck  fire 
across  the  darkness.  His  gorge  rose  at  it  as  it  would 
have  risen  at  a  foul  blow  under  the  belt. 

Leonard  Mercier;  he  saw  nothing  else;  he  needed 
nothing  else  but  that;  it  showed  him  her  deed  as 
the  abomination  that  it  was.  If  it  had  been  any 
other  man  he  thought  he  could  have  borne  it,  for 
he  might  still  have  held  her  clean. 

As  it  was,  the  uncleanness  was  such  that  his  mind 
turned  from  it  instinctively  as  from  a  thing  un- 
speakable. He  closed  his  eyes,  he  hid  his  face  in 
lis  hands,  as  if  the  two  had  been  there  with  him 
in  the  room.  And  still  he  saw  things.  There  rose 
before  him  a  sort  of  welter  of  gray  slime  and  dark- 
ness in  which  were  things  visible,  things  white  and 
vivid,  yet  vague,  broken  and  unfinished,  because 
his  mind  refused  to  join  or  finish  them;  things  that 
were  faceless  and  deformed,  like  white  bodies  that 
tumble  and  toss  in  the  twilight  of  evil  dreams.  These 
white  things  came  tumbling  and  tossing  toward  him 
from  the  gray  confines  of  the  slime ;  urged  by  a  per- 
sistent and  abominable  life,  they  were  borne  per- 
petually on  the  darkness  and  were  perpetually 
thrust  back  into  it  by  his  terror. 

He  turned  the  letter  and  read  it  to  the  end,  to  the 
last  scribble  on  the  margin:  "You  should  have  mar- 
ried a  girl  like  Winny  Dymond."  "It  was  a  lie 
what  I  told  you  once  about  her."  "You  needn't 
be  afraid  of  being  fond  of  Baby."    There  was  noth- 

237 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

ing  evocative,  nothing  significant  for  him  in  these 
phrases,  not  even  in  the  names.  His  mind  had  no 
longer  any  grip  on  words.  The  ideas  they  stood  for 
were  blurred;  they  were  without  form  or  meaning; 
they  rose  and  shifted  like  waves,  and  like  waves  they 
disappeared  on  the  surface  of  the  darkness  and  the 
slime. 

He  was  roused  from  his  sickening  contemplation 
by  a  child's  cry  overhead.  It  came  again;  it  pierced 
him;  it  broke  up  the  horror  and  destroyed  it.  He 
woke  with  it  to  a  sense  of  sheer  blank  calamity,  of 
overpowering  bereavement. 

His  wife  had  left  him.  That  was  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him..  His  wife  had  left  him.  She  had  left 
her  little  children. 

■  It  was  as  if  Violet  had  died  and  her  death  had 
cleansed  her. 

When  the  child  cried  a  third  time  he  remembered 
Winny.     He  would  have  to  tell  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

HE  rose  and  went  to  the  fireplace  mechanically. 
His  impulse  was  to  tear  up  and  bum  Violet's 
letter  and  thus  utterly  destroy  all  proof  and  the 
record  of  her  shame.  He  was  restrained  by  that 
strong  subconscious  sanity  which  before  now  had 
cared  for  him  when  he  was  at  his  worst.  It  sug- 
gested that  he  would  do  well  to  keep  the  letter.  It 
was — it  was  a  document.  It  might  have  value. 
Proofs  and  records  were  precisely  what  he  might 
most  want  later  on.  He  folded  it  and  replaced  it  in 
its  envelope  and  thrust  it  into  the  breast  pocket  of 
his  coat. 

And  it  occurred  to  him  again  that  he  had  got  to 
tell  Winny. 

He  could  hear  her  feet  going  up  and  down,  up  and 
down,  in  the  front  room  overhead  where  she  walk- 
ed, hushing  the  crying  baby.  Presently  the  crying 
ceased  and  the  footsteps,  and  he  heard  the  low  hum- 
ming of  her  cradle  song;  then  silence;  and  then  the 
sound  of  her  feet  coming  down  the  stairs. 

He  would  have  to  tell  her  now. 

He  drew  himself  up,  there  where  he  was,  standing 
by  his  hearth,  and  waited  for  her. 

She  came  in  softly  and  shut  the  door  behind  her 
and  stood  there  as  if  she  were  afraid  to  come  too 
near.  Her  face  was  all  eyes;  all  eyes  of  terror,  as 
before  a  grief  too  great,  a  bereavement  too  awful 
for  any  help  or  consolation.     She  spoke  first. 

239 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"What  is  it,  Ranny?"  Her  low  voice  went  light 
like  a  tender  hand  that  was  afraid  to  touch  his 
wound. 

"She's  left  me;   that's  all." 

Her  Hps  parted,  but  no  words  came;  they  parted 
to  ease  the  heart  that  fluttered  with  anguish  in  her 
breast.  She  moved  a  little  nearer  into  the  room, 
not  looking  at  him,  but  with  her  head  bowed  slight- 
ly as  if  her  shoulders  bore  Violet's  shame.  She 
stood  a  moment  by  the  table,  looking  at  her  own  hand 
as  it  closed  on  the  edge,  the  fingers  working  up  and 
down  on  the  cloth.  It  might  have  been  the  hand 
of  another  person,  for  all  she  was  aware  of  its  half- 
convulsive  motion. 

"Oh,  Ranny,  dear—''  At  last  she  breathed  it 
out,  the  soul  of  her  compassion,  and  all  her  hushed 
sense  of  his  bereavement. 

"Did  you  know?" 

She  shook  her  head,  slowly,  closing  in  an  extremity 
of  negation  the  eyes  that  would  not  look  at  him. 

"No— No — "  It  was  as  if  she  had  said,  "Who 
could  have  known  it?"  Yet  her  voice. had  an  un- 
certain sound. 

"But  you  had  an  idea?" 

"No,"  she  said,  taking  courage  from  his  in- 
credible calmness.  "I  was  afraid;  that  was  all." 
And  then,  as  one  utterly  beaten  by  him  and  de- 
fenseless, she  broke  down.  "I  tried  so  hard— so 
hard,  so  as  it  shouldn't  happen." 

It  was  as  if  she  had  said,  "I  tried  so  hard— so  hard 
to  save  her  for  you;   but  she  had  to  die." 

"I  know  you  did." 

But  it  was  only  then,  in  the  long  pause  of  that 
moment,  that  he  knew;   that  he  saw  the  whole  full, 

240 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

rich  meaning  and  intention  of  the  things  that  she 
had  done  for  him. 

And  now,  as  if  she  were  afraid  lest  he  should  see 
too  much,  as  if  somehow  his  seeing  it  would  sharpen 
the  perilous  edge  she  stood  on,  would  wind  up  to  the 
pitch  of  agony  her  tense  feeHng  of  it  all,  Winny  sud- 
denly became  evasive.  She  found  her  subterfuge 
in  stark  matter  of  fact. 

"You  haven't  had  any  supper,"  she  said. 

"No  more  have  you." 

"I  don't  want  anything." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't.  But  you  must.  You'll  be 
ill,  Winny,  if  you  don't." 

White-faced  and  famished,  they  kept  it  up,  both 
struck  by  the  indecency  of  eating  in  the  house  of 
sorrow.  Then  for  his  sake  she  gave  in,  and  he  for 
hers. 

"If  you  will,  I  will,"  vshe  said. 

"That's  right,"  said  he. 

And  together  helping  each  other,  they  filled  the 
kettle  and  set  it  on  the  fire  to  boil,  moving  in  silence 
and  with  soft  footsteps,  as  in  the  house  where  death 
was.  And  together  they  sat  down  to  the  table  and 
forced  themselves  to  eat  a  little,  each  for  the  sake 
of  the  other,  encouraging  each  other  with  such  diffi- 
cult, broken  speech  as  mourners  use.  They  be- 
haved in  all  ways  as  if  the  ghost  of  a  dead  Violet 
sat  in  her  old  place,  facing  Ranny.  The  feeling, 
embraced  by  each  of  them  with  the  most  profound 
sincerity,  was  that  Ranny's  bereavement  was  irre- 
parable, supreme.  Each  was  convinced  with  an  in- 
assailable  and  immutable  conviction  that  the  thing 
that  had  happened  was,  for  each  of  them,  the  worst 
that  could  happen. 

241 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Half  through  the  meal  he  got  up  suddenly  and  left 
her.  He  was  seized  with  violent  sickness,  such  sick- 
ness as  he  had  never  yet  known,  and  would  have 
believed  impossible.  The  sounds  of  his  bodily 
anguish  reached  her  from  the  room  above.  They 
stirred  her  emotion  to  a  passion  of  helpless,  agonizing 
pity.  If  she  could  only  go  up  to  him  and  put  her 
hand  on  his  forehead,  and  do  things  for  him!  But 
she  couldn't;  and  she  felt  poignantly  that  if  she  did 
Ranny  somehow  wouldn't  like  it.  So,  as  there  was 
nothing  she  could  do  for  him,  she  laid  her  head  down 
on  her  arms  and  wept. 

She  raised  it  suddenly,  like  a  guilty  thing,  and 
dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  as  if  she  were  angry 
with  them  for  betraying  her. 

Ranny  had  recovered  and  was  coming  down- 
stairs again.  As  he  came  in  he  saw  at  once  what 
she  had  been  doing. 

"You've  been  crying,  Winny?" 

She  said  nothing. 

'T  wouldn't  if  I  were  you,"  he  said.  "There's  no 
need." 

She  rose  and  faced  him  bravely,  for  there  were 
things  that  must  be  thought  of. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Ranny?"  she  said. 

"Nothing.     What  is  there  to  be  done?" 

"Well — "     She  paused,  breathing  painfully. 

"Look  here,  Winny,  you're  dead-beat  and  you 
must  go  home  to  bed.     Do  you  know  it's  past  ten?" 

She  drew  herself  up.     "  I  'm  not  going. ' ' 

"You  must,  dear,  I'm  afraid." 

He  smiled,  and  the  smile  and  his  white  face  made 
her  heart  ache.  Also  they  made  her  more  deter- 
mined. 

242 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"You  must  have  somebody.  You  can't  be  left 
like  this  all  by  yourself.  Do  you  think  I  can  go  and 
leave  you,  when  you're  ill  and  all?" 

"I'm  all  right  now.  I  wish  I  could  see  you  home, 
but  I  can't  leave  the  house  with  the  kids,  you  see, 
all  alone." 

"Ranny,"  she  said,  "I'm  not  going."  She  was 
very  grave,  very  earnest,  absolutely  determined,  and, 
child  that  she  still  was,  absolutely  unaware  of  the 
impossibility  of  the  thing  that  she  proposed.  She 
was  blind  to  herself,  blind  to  all  appearances,  bHnd 
to  all  aspects  of  the  case,  but  one,  his  desolation  and 
his  necessity. 

"I  can't  leave  you.  I  wouldn't  be  happy  if  I 
didn't  stay.  You  might  be  taken  bad  or  something, 
in  the  night." 

"You  can't  stay,  Winny.  It  wouldn't  do."  They 
were  the  words  she  had  used  to  him,  in  her  wisdom, 
when  he  had  asked  her  to  make  her  home  with  him 
and  Violet. 

But  the  vision  of  propriety,  which  he  raised  and 
presented  thus  for  her  consideration,  it  was  nothing 
to  her.     She  swept  it  all  aside. 

"But  I  must,"  she  said.     "There's  Baby." 

He  remembered  then  that  little  one,  above  in 
Violet's  deserted  room.  Almost  she  had  persuaded 
him,  but  for  that  secret  sanity  which  had  him  in  its 
care. 

"I'll  take  him.  You  must  go  now,"  he  said, 
firmly.     "Now  this  minute." 

He  looked  for  her  hat  and  coat,  found  them  and 
put  her  into  them,  handling  her  with  an  extreme 
inflexibility  of  manner  and  tenderness  of  touch,  as 
if  she  had  been  a  child. 

243 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Well,  then,"  she  compromised.  "Let  me  help 
you  move  him." 

He  let  her;  and  they  went  upstairs  and  into 
Violet's  room.  Winny  had  removed  every  sign  of 
disorder  left  by  Violet  in  the  precipitancy  of  her 
flight.  Between  them,  very  gently,  they  carried  the 
cot,  with  the  sleeping  baby  in  it,  out  of  the  room 
of  the  love  knots  and  the  rosebuds  into  Ranny's 
room.  They  set  the  cot  close  up  against  the  side 
of  his  bed  with  the  rail  down  so  that  Ranny's  arms 
might  reach  out  to  Baby  where  he  lay.  Dossie's 
little  bed  was  drawn  up  at  the  foot.  They  stood 
together  for  a  moment,  looking  at  the  two  children, 
at  Dossie,  all  curled  up  and  burrowing  into  her  pillow, 
and  at  Baby,  lying  by  Ranny's  bed  as  a  nursling  lies 
by  its  mother. 

They  were  silent  as  the  same  thought  tore  at  them. 

Night  after  night,  for  years,  as  long  as  Dossie 
and  Baby  were  little,  Ranny  would  lie  like  that,  on 
that  narrow  bed  of  his,  shut  in  by  the  two  cots,  one 
at  his  side  and  the  other  at  his  feet.  And  to  Winny 
it  had  come,  for  Ranny  had  rubbed  it  into  her 
(tenderly  enough;  but  he  had  rubbed  it  in),  that  this 
was  the  last  night  when  she  could  stand  beside  him 
there.  She  had  tried  so  hard  to  hold  him  and 
Violet  together;  and  all  the  time  it  had  been  Violet 
who  had  held  her  and  him.  It  was  Violet's  presence 
that  had  made  it  possible  for  her  to  go  in  and  out 
with  Ranny  in  his  house. 

She  stooped  for  a  final,  reassuring  look  at  Baby. 

"Can  you  manage  with  him?"  she  whispered. 

He  nodded. 

"I've  made  him  his  food  in  that  saucepan.  You'll 
have  to  heat  it  on  the  gas  ring — in  there." 

244 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"In  there"  was  Violet's  room. 

They  went  downstairs  together. 

'T  wish  I  could  see  you  home,"  he  said  again. 

"I'm  all  right."  But  she  paused  on  the  doorstep. 
"You  ought  to  have  somebody.  You  can't  be  left 
all  alone  like  this.  Mayn't  I  run  down  and  fetch 
your  mother?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "you  mayn't.  I'll  go  down  myself 
to-morrow  morning,  if  you  wouldn't  mind  coming  in 
and  looking  after  the  kids  for  a  bit." 

"Of  course  I'll  come.     Good  night,  Ranny." 

' '  Good  night,  Winky.  And  thanks — ' '  His  throat 
closed  with  a  sharp  contraction  on  the  words.  She 
slipped  into  the  darkness  and  was  gone. 


He  was  thankful  that  he  had  had  the  sense  to  see 
the  impossibility  of  it,  of  her  spending  the  night  in 
his  house  with  nobody  in  it  but  the  two  of  them  and 
the  two  children. 

But  it  was  only  when,  in  the  act  of  undressing,  he 
was  reminded  of  Violet's  letter  by  its  bulging  in  his 
breast  pocket,  that  he  glimpsed  the  danger  they  had 
escaped.  Up  till  then  he  had  only  thought  of  Winny, 
of  her  reputation,  of  her  post  at  Johnson's  (imperiled 
if  she  were  not  in  by  eleven),  of  all  that  she  would 
not  and  could  not  tliink  of  in  her  thought  for  him. 
Now,  that  inner  sanity,  that  secret  wisdom  which 
had  made  him  preserve  Violet's  letter  as  a  possibly 
valuable  document,  suggested  that  if  Winny  had 
stayed  all  night  in  the  house  with  him  that  docu- 
ment would  have  lost  its  value.  Not  that  he  had 
meant  to  do  anything  with  it,  that  he  had  any  plan, 
or  any   certain  knowledge.     Those   two  ideas,   or 

245 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

rather,  those  two  instinctive  appreciations,  of  the 
value  of  the  document,  and  of  the  awfulness  of  the 
risk  they  ran,  were  connected  in  his  mind  obscurely 
as  the  stuff  of  some  tale  that  he  had  been  told,  or  as 
something  he  had  seen  sometime  in  the  papers. 
He  put  them  from  him  as  things  that  he  himself 
had  no  immediate  use  for;  while  all  the  time  sub- 
conscious sanity  guarded  them  and  did  not  let  them 
go. 

But  that  was  all  it  did  for  him.  It  did  not  lift 
from  him  his  oppression,  or  fill  with  intelligible  detail 
his  blank  sense  of  calamity,  of  inconsolable  bereave- 
ment. This  oppression,  this  morbid  sense,  amounted 
almost  to  hallucination ;  it  prevented  him  from  think- 
ing as  clearly  as  he  might  about  all  that,  the  value 
of  the  document,  and  the  rest  of  it,  and  about  what 
he  ought  to  do.  It  was  with  him  as  he  lay  awake  on 
his  bed,  shut  in  by  the  two  cots;  it,  and  the  fear  of 
forgetting  to  feed  Baby,  got  into  his  dreams  and 
troubled  them;  they  watched  by  him  in  his  sleep; 
they  woke  him  early  and  were  with  him  when  he 
woke. 

Dossie  woke  too.  He  took  her  into  his  bed  and 
played  with  her,  and  in  playing  he  forgot  his  grief. 
A  little  before  seven  he  got  up  and  dressed.  He 
washed  Dossie  and  dressed  her  as  well  as  he  could, 
with  tender,  clumsy  fingers  that  fumbled  over  all 
her  little  strings  and  buttons.  Pain,  and  pleasure 
poignant  as  pain,  thrilled  him  with  every  soft  con- 
tact with  her  darling  body.  He  tried  to  brush  her 
hair  as  Winny  brushed  it,  all  in  ducks'  tails  and  in 
feathers. 

He  went  down  and  busied  himself,  hours  earlier 
than  he  need,  maldng  the  fire,  getting  ready  Dossie's 

246 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

breakfast  and  Baby's  and  his  own.  Foraging  in  the 
larder,  he  came  upon  a  beefsteak  pie  that,  evidently, 
Winny  had  made  for  him,  as  if  in  foreknowledge  of 
his  need.  When  he  had  washed  up  the  breakfast 
things  and  the  things  that  were  left  over  from  last 
night,  he  went  upstairs  and  made  his  bed,  clumsily. 
Then  he  went  down  again  and  tidied  the  sitting- 
room.  In  all  this  he  was  driven  by  his  determination 
to  leave  nothing  for  Winny  to  do  for  him  when  she 
came.  He  went  to  and  fro,  with  Dossie  toddling 
after  him  and  laughing. 

Upstairs,  Baby  laughed  in  his  cot. 

And  all  the  time,  Ranny,  with  his  obsession  of 
bereavement  and  calamity,  was  unaware  of  the 
peace,  the  exquisite,  the  unimaginable  peace  that 
had  settled  upon  Granville. 


At  half  past  eight  Winny  looked  in  (entering  by 
the  open  door  of  Granville)  to  see  what  she  could 
do. 

She  found  him  in  the  bathroom,  trying  to  wash 
Baby.  He  had  put  the  little  zinc  bath  with  Baby 
in  it  inside  the  big  one. 

"Whatever  did  you  do  that  for,  Rarmy?"  Winny 
asked,  while  her  heart  yearned  to  him. 

He  said  he  had  to.  The  Httle  beggar  splashed  so. 
Good  idea,  wasn't  it? 

Almost  he  had  forgotten  his  bereavement. 

Winny  shook  her  head. 

"Anyhow,  I've  washed  him  all  right." 

"Yes,"  said  she.     "But  you'll  never  dry  him." 

"Why  not?" 

"You  can't.  Not  in  here.  There  isn't  room  for 
247 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

you  to  set.  Where's  your  chair  and  your  flannel 
apron?" 

"Flannel  apron?" 

"Yes.  If  you  don't  wear  one  you'll  not  get  any 
hold  on  him.  He'll  slip  between  your  knees  before 
you  know  he's  gone." 

"Not  if  I  keep  'em  together." 

''Then  there's  no  lap  for  him.  What  he  wants  is 
petticoats." 

(Petticoats  ?  That  was  the  secret,  was  it  ?  He  had 
tried  to  soap  Baby,  bit  by  bit,  as  he  had  seen  Winny 
do,  holding  him,  wrapped  in  a  towel,  on  his  knees — a 
disastrous  failure.  It  was  incredible  how  slippery 
he  was.) 

"There's  his  blanket.  I  thought  I'd  dry  him  on 
the  floor." 

"He'll  catch  his  death  of  cold,  Ranny,  if  you  do. 
There,  give  him  to  me.  We'll  take  him  downstairs 
to  the  fire." 

He  gave  her  the  little  naked,  dripping  body,  and 
she  wrapped  it  in  the  warm  blanket  and  carried  it 
downstairs. 

"You  bring  the  towels  and  the  powder  puff,  and 
all  his  vests  and  flannels  and  things,"  said  Winny. 

He  brought  them.  She  established  herself  in  the 
low  chair  by  the  fire  downstairs.  He  played  with 
Dossie  as  he  watched  her.  And  all  the  time, 
through  all  the  play,  his  obscure  instinct  told  him 
that  she  ought  not  to  be  there.  It  suggested  that 
if  he  desired  to  preserve  the  integrity  of  the  docu- 
ment, Winny  and  he  must  not  be  known  to  be  alone 
in  the  house  together. 

But  it  was  a  question  of  petticoats.  He  realized 
it  when  he  saw  Baby  sprawling  in  the  safe  hollow 

248 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

of  her  lap.  He  had  meant  to  tell  Winny  that  she 
mustn't  stay;  but  she  had  him  by  those  absurd 
petticoats  of  hers,  and  behind  her  petticoats  he 
shielded  himself  from  the  upbraidings  of  his  sanity. 

But  Winny  knew.  She  was  not  going  to  stay,  to 
be  there  with  him  more  than  was  strictly  necessary. 
When,  with  exquisite  gentleness,  she  had  inserted 
Baby  into  all  his  little  vests  and  things,  she  put  on 
him  his  knitted  Baby's  coat  and  hat,  and  gave  him 
to  Ranny  to  hold  while  she  arrayed  Dossie  in  her 
Sunday  best.  Then  she  packed  them  both  into  the 
wonderful  pram,  and  wheeled  them  out  into  the 
Avenue,  far  from  Ranny. 

For  she  knew  that  Ranny  didn't  want  her.  He 
wanted  to  be  left  alone  to  think. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

HE  had  been  incapable  of  thinking  until  now, 
the  first  moment  (since  it  had  happened)  that 
he  had  been  left  alone.  Last  night  the  thing  had 
stupefied  him  so  that  he  could  not  think.  If  he  had 
tried  to  describe  what  had  been  before  him  last 
night,  he  would  have  said  there  was  a  lot  of  cotton 
wool  about.  It  had  been  all  like  wool,  cotton  wool, 
nothing  that  the  mind  could  bite  on,  nothing  that 
it  could  grasp.  Last  night  Winny  had  been  there, 
and  that  had  stopped  his  thinking.  It  was  absurd 
to  say  that  what  had  happened  had  disturbed  his 
night's  rest.  What  had  disturbed  his  night's  rest 
had  been  his  fear  lest  he  should  forget  to  feed  Baby. 
And  in  the  morning  there  had  been  too  many  things 
to  do,  there  had  been  Dossie  and  Baby.  And  then 
Winny  again. 

And  now  they  were  all  gone.  There  was  silence 
and  a  clear  space  to  think  in.  His  brain  too  was 
clear  and  clean.  The  clouds  of  cotton  wool  had 
been  dispersed  in  his  movements  to  and  fro. 

As  an  aid  to  thinking  he  brought  out  of  his  breast 
pocket  Violet's  letter.  He  spread  it  on  the  table  in 
the  back  sitting-room  and  sat  down  to  it,  seriously,  as 
to  a  document  that  he  would  have  to  master,  a  thing 
that  would  yield  its  secret  only  under  the  closest 
examination.  He  was  aware  that  he  had  not  by 
any  means  taken  it  all  in  last  night. 

250 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

That  she  had  gone  off  with  Leonard  Mercier,  that 
he  had  indeed  grasped,  that  he  knew.  But  beyond 
that  the  letter  gave  him  no  soHd  practical  informa- 
tion. It  did  not  and  it  was  not  meant  to  give  him 
any  clue.  In  going  off  Violet  had  disappeared  and 
had  meant  to  disappear.  He  gathered  from  it  that 
she  had  been  possessed  by  one  thought  and  by  one 
fear,  that  he  would  go  after  her  and  bring  her  back. 

"What  on  earth,"  he  said  to  himself,  "should  I  go 
after  her  for?" 

She  made  that  clear  to  him  as  he  read  on.  Her 
idea  was  that  he  would  go  after  her,  not  so  much  to 
bring  her  back  as  to  do  something  to  Mercier,  to 
inflict  punishment  on  him,  to  hurt  Mercier  and  hurt 
him  badly.  That  was  what  Violet  was  afraid  of; 
that  was  why  she  tried  to  shield  Mercier,  to  excuse 
him,  to  take  the  whole  blame  on  herself.  And,  evi- 
dently, that  was  what  Mercier  was  afraid  of  too. 
That  was  why  he  had  bolted  with  her  to  Paris. 
They  must  have  had  that  in  their  minds,  they  must 
have  planned  it  months  before.  He  must  have  been 
trying  for  the  post  he'd  got  there.  Ransome  could 
see  further,  with  a  fierce  shrewdness,  that  it  was 
Mercier's  "funk"  and  not  his  loyalty  that  accounted 
for  his  "holding  off."  "He  held  off  because  I  was 
his  friend,  did  he?  He  held  off  to  save  his  own  skin, 
the  swine!" 

And  now  she  drew  him  up.  What  was  all  this 
about  Winny  Dymond?  He  must  have  missed  it 
last  night.  "She  was  always  fond  of  you.  It  was 
a  lie  what  I  told  you  about  her  not  being.  I  said 
it  because  I  was  mad  on  you.  I  knew  you'd  have 
married  her  if  I'd  let  you  alone." 

She  was  cool,  the  way  she  showed  herself  up. 
17  251 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

That's  what  she'd  done,  had  she?  Lied,  so  that  he 
might  think  Winny  didn't  care  for  him?  Lied,  so 
that  he  mightn't  marry  her?  Lied,  so  that  she  might 
get  him  for  herself?  For  her  fancy,  for  no  more 
than  a  low  animal  would  feel.  He  could  see  it  now. 
He  could  see  what  she  was.  A  woman  who  could 
fancy  Mercier  must  have  been  a  low  animal  all 
through  and  all  the  time. 

How  he  had  ever  cared  for  her  he  couldn't  think. 
There  must  have  been  some  beastliness  in  him. 
Men  were  beasts  sometimes.  But  he  was  worse. 
He  was  a  fool  to  have  believed  her  lie.  Even  her 
beastliness  sank  out  of  sight  beside  that  treachery. 

Well — she'd  been  frank  enough  about^  it  now. 
She  must  have  had  a  face,  to  own  that  she'd  lied  to 
him  and  trapped  him!  After  that,  what  did  it 
matter  if  she  had  left  him?  "I  dare  say  you  know 
who  I've  gone  with."  What  did  it  matter  who 
she'd  gone  with?  Good  God!  What  did  it  matter 
what  she'd  done? 

He  could  smile  at  her  fear  and  at  the  cause  of  it. 
Mercier  must  have  terrified  her  with  his  funk.  The 
postscript  said  as  much.  "You  can  do  anything 
you  like  to  me,  so  long  as  you  don't  hurt  Leonard." 
He  smiled  again  at  that.  What  did  she  imagine 
he'd  like  to  do  to  her?  As  for  Mercier,  what  should 
he  want  to  hurt  the  beast  for?  He  wouldn't  touch 
him — ^now — with  the  end  of  a  barge-pole. 

Oh,  well,  yes,  he  supposed  he'd  have  to  leather 
him  if  he  came  across  him.  But  he  wouldn't  have 
any  pleasure  in  it — now.  Last  year  he  would  have 
leathered  him  with  joy;  his  feet  had  fairly  ached  to 
get  at  him,  to  kick  the  swine  out  of  the  house  before 
he  did  any  harm  in  it.     Now  it  was  as  if  he  loathed 

252 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

him  too  much  in  his  flabbiness  to  care  for  the  contact 
that  personal  violence  involved. 

Yet,  through  all  the  miserable  workings  of  his 
mind  the  thought  of  Mercier's  flabbiness  was  sweet 
to  him.  It  gave  him  a  curious  consolation  and  sup- 
port. True,  it  had  been  the  chief  agent  in  the  proc- 
ess of  deception;  it  had  blinded  him  to  Mercier's 
dangerous  quahty;  it  had  given  him  a  sense  of  false 
security;  he  could  see,  now,  the  fool  he'd  been  to 
imagine  that  it  would  act  as  any  deterrent  to  a  woman 
so  foredoomed  as  Violet.  Thus  it  had  in  a  measure 
brought  about  the  whole  catastrophe.  At  the  same 
time  it  had  saved  him  from  the  peculiar  personal 
mortification  such  catastrophes  entail.  In  com- 
parison with  Mercier  he  sustained  no  injury  to  his 
pride  and  vanity  of  sex.  And  Mercier's  flabbiness 
did  more  for  him  than  that.  It  took  the  sharpest 
sting  from  Violet's  infidelity.  It  removed  it  to  the 
region  of  insane  perversities.  It  removed  Violet 
herself  from  her  place  in  memory,  that  place  of  magic 
and  of  charm  where  if  she  had  remained  she  would 
have  had  power  to  hurt  him. 

When  he  considered  her  letter  yet  again  in  the 
calmness  of  that  thought,  it  struck  him  that  Violet 
herself  was  offering  him  support  and  consolation. 
''You  shouldn't  have  married  me.  You  should  have 
married  a  girl  like  Winny  Dymond." — "I  knew 
you'd  marry  her  if  I  let  you  alone."  Why,  after  all 
these  years,  had  she  confessed  her  treachery?  Why 
had  she  confessed  it  now  at  the  precise  moment 
when  she  had  left  him?  There  was  no  need.  It 
couldn't  help  her.  No,  but  it  was  just  possible  (for 
she  was  quite  intelligent)  that  she  had  seen  how  it 
might  help  him.     It  was  possible  that  some  sort  of 

253 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

contrition  had  visited  her  in  that  last  hour,  and  that 
she  had  meant  to  remind  him  that  he  was  not  ut- 
terly abandoned,  that  there  was  something  left. 

That  brought  him  to  the  lines,  almost  indecipher- 
able, squeezed  in  her  last  htirried  moment  into  the 
margin  of  the  letter.  "You  mustn't  be  afraid  of 
being  fond  of  Baby.  There  was  nothing  between 
me  and  Leonard  before  July  of  last  year." 

She  had  foreseen  the  supreme  issue;  she  had  pro- 
vided for  the  worst  sting,  the  unspeakable  suspicion, 
the  intolerable  terror.  It  was  as  if  she  had  calculated 
the  precise  point  where  her  infidelity  would  touch  him. 

Faced  with  that  issue,  Ranny's  mind,  like  a  young 
thing  forced  to  sudden  tragic  maturity  by  a  mortal 
crisis,  worked  with  an  incredible  clearness  and  capa- 
city. It  developed  an  almost  superhuman  subtlety  of 
comprehension.  He  looked  at  the  thing  all  round; 
he  controlled  his  passion  so  that  he  might  look  at 
it.  It  was  of  coiu-se  open  to  him  to  take  it  that  she 
had  lied.  Passion  indeed  clamored  at  him,  insisting 
that  she  did  lie,  that  lying  came  easier  to  her  than 
the  truth.  But,  looking  at  it  all  round  without 
passion,  he  was  inclined  to  think  that  Violet  had  not 
lied.  She  had  not  given  herself  time  or  space  to  lie 
for  lying's  sake.  If  she  had  lied,  then,  she  had  lied 
for  a  purpose.  A  purpose  that  he  could  very  well 
conceive.  But  if  she  lied  for  that  purpose  she  would 
have  given  importance  and  prominence  to  her  lie. 
She  wouldn't  have  hidden  it  away  in  an  almost 
invisible  scrawl  on  an  inadequate  margin. 

Of  course,  she  might  have  lied  to  deceive  him  for 
another  purpose,  for  his  own  good.  But  there  again 
conscious  deception  would  have  made  for  legibility 
at  the  leasts 

SS4 


THE   COMBINED    MAZE 

Besides,  she  had  put  it  in  a  way  that  left  no  room 
for  doubt.  "You  needn't  be  afraid  of  being  fond 
of  Baby."  Even  passion  had  to  own  that  the  words 
had  the  ring  of  remorse,  of  insight,  of  certainty,  and, 
above  all,  of  haste.  Such  haste  as  precluded  all 
deliberation.  Evidently  it  was  an  afterthought. 
It  had  come  to  her,  inopportunely,  in  the  last 
moment  before  flight,  and  she  had  given  it  the  place 
and  the  importance  she  would  naturally  give  to  a 
subject  in  which  she  herself  was  not  in  any  way 
concerned. 

There  remained  the  possibility  that  she  might  be 
mistaken.  But  the  dates  upheld  her.  In  the  be- 
ginning he  and  she  had,  of  necessity,  gone  very 
carefully  into  the  question  of  dates.  He  remembered 
that  there  had  been  a  whole  body  of  evidence  es- 
tablishing the  all-important  point  beyond  a  doubt. 
All  of  his  honor  that  he  most  cared  for  she  had  spared. 
She  had  not  profaned  the  ultimate  sanctity,  nor 
poisoned  for  him  the  very  sweetness  of  his  life. 


There  were  sounds  in  the  front  garden.  Winny 
was  bringing  in  the  children.  He  went  out  to  meet 
them  as  they  came  up  the  flagged  walk.  Dossie 
toddled,  clinging  to  the  skirts  of  Winny,  who  in  all 
her  tenderness  and  absurdity,  with  her  most  earnest 
air  of  gravity  and  absorption  in  the  adventure, 
pushed  the  pram.  In  the  pram,  tilted  backward, 
with  his  little  pink  legs  upturned.  Baby  fondled, 
deliciously,  his  own  toes.  He  was  jerking  himself 
up  and  down  and  making  for  the  benefit  of  all  whom 
it  might  concern  his  very  nicest  noises. 

Ranny    stood    in    the    doorway,    silent,    almost 

255 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

austere,  like  a  man  escaped  by  a  hair's  breadth  from 
great  peril. 

When  he  caught  sight  of  the  silent  and  austere 
young  man  in  the  doorway,  Baby  let  go  his  fascinat- 
ing toes.  He  chuckled  with  delight.  He  jerked 
himself  more  than  ever  up  and  down.  He  struggled 
to  be  free,  to  be  lifted  up  and  embraced  by  the  young 
man.  Silence  and  austerity  were  no  deterrent  to 
Baby,  so  assured  was  he  of  his  position,  of  his  wel- 
come, of  the  safe,  warm,  tingling  place  that  would 
presently  be  his  in  the  hollow  of  the  young  man's 
arm.  The  desire  of  it  made  Baby's  arms  and  his 
body  writhe,  with  a  heartrending  agitation,  in  his 
little  knitted  coat. 

All  this  innocent  ecstasy  of  Baby  the  young  man 
met  with  silence  and  austerity  and  somber  eyes. 

With  Winny's  eyes  on  him  he  indeed  lifted  Baby 
up,  disclosing,  first,  his  pathetically  bunched  and 
bundled  back,  and  then  his  face,  exquisitely  con- 
torted. 

And  Winny,  who  had  forgotten  for  a  minute, 
laughed. 

"He  is  funny,  isn't  he?  He  smiles  just  like  you 
do,  all  up  in  the  comers  like." 

At  that  the  young  man's  arms  tightened,  and  he 
gripped  Baby  with  passion  to  his  breast.  He  kissed 
him,  looking  down  at  him,  passionately,  somberly. 

Winny  saw,  and  the  impulse  seized  her  to  efface 
herself,  to  vanish. 

"I  must  be  going,"  she  said,  "or  I  shall  be  late 
for  dinner.  Can  you  manage,  Ranny?  There's  a 
beefsteak  pie.     I  made  it  yesterday." 

As  she  turned  Dossie  trotted  after  her;  and  as  she 
vanished  Dossie  cried,  inconsolably. 

256 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  managed,  beautifully,  with  the  beefsteak  pie. 

His  sense  of  bereavement  which  still  weighed  on 
him  was  no  longer  attached  in  any  way  to  Violet. 
He  could  not  say  precisely  what  it  was  attached  to. 
There  it  was.  Only,  when  he  thought  of  Violet  it 
seemed  to  him  incomprehensible,  not  to  say  absurd, 
that  he  should  feel  it. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

IN  the  afternoon  Winny  came  again  for  the  chil- 
dren, so  that  he  could  go  to  Wandsworth  unen- 
cumbered. The  weather  was  favorable  to  her  idea, 
which  was  not  to  be  m  Ranny's  house  more  than  she 
could  help,  but  to  be  seen,  if  seen  she  must  be,  out 
of  doors  with  the  children,  in  a  public  innocence, 
affording  the  presumption  that  Violet  was  still  there. 

Above  all,  she  was  not  going  to  be  seen  with 
Ranny,  or  to  be  seen  by  him  too  much,  if  she  could 
help  it.  With  her  sense  of  the  sadness  of  his  errand, 
the  sense  (that  came  to  her  more  acutely  with  the 
afternoon)  of  things  imminent,  of  things,  she  knew 
not  what,  that  would  have  to  be  done,  she  avoided 
him  as  she  would  have  avoided  a  bereaved  person 
preoccupied  with  some  lamentable  business  relating 
to  the  departed. 

He  was  aware  of  her  attitude;  he  was  aware, 
further,  that  it  would  be  their  attitude  at  Wands- 
worth. They  would  all  treat  him  like  that,  as  if  he 
were  bereaved.  They  would  not  lose,  nor  allow  him 
to  lose  for  an  instant,  their  awestruck  sense  of  it. 
That  was  why  he  dreaded  going  there,  why  he  had 
put  it  off  till  the  last  possible  moment,  which  was 
about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  His  Uncle 
Randall  would  be  there.  He  would  have  to  be  told. 
He  might  as  well  tell  him  while  he  was  about  it. 
His  wife's  action  had  been  patent  and  public;    it 

258 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

was  not  a  thing  that  could  be  hushed  up,  or  mini- 
mized, or  explained  away. 

As  he  thought  of  all  this,  of  what  he  would  have 
to  say,  to  go  into,  to  handle,  every  moment  wound 
him  up  to  a  higher  and  higher  pitch  of  nervous 
tension. 

His  mother  opened  the  door  to  him.  She  greeted 
him  with  a  certain  timidity,  an  ominous  hesitation; 
and  from  the  expression  of  her  face  you  might  have 
gathered,  in  spite  of  her  kiss,  that  she  was  not  en- 
tirely glad  to  see  him;  that  she  had  something  up 
her  sleeve,  something  that  she  desired  to  conceal 
from  him.  It  was  as  if  by  way  of  conceaUng  it  that 
she  let  him  in  stealthily  with  no  more  opening  of  the 
door  than  was  absolutely  necessary  for  his  entrance. 
"You  haven't  brought  Vi'let?"  she  whispered. 
"No." 

They   went   softly   together   through    the    shop, 
darkened  by  the  blinds  that  were  drawn  for  Sunday. 
In  the  little  passage  beyond  he  paused  at  the  door 
of  the  back  parlor. 
"Where's  Father?" 

She  winced  at  the  word  "Father,"  so  out  of  keep- 
ing with  his  habitual  levity.     It  was  the  first  in- 
timation that  there  was  something  wrong  with  him. 
"He's  upstairs,  my  dear,  in  His  bed." 
"What's  the  matter  with  him?" 
"It's  the  Headache."     She  went  on  to  explain, 
taking  him  as  it  were  surreptitiously  into  the  little 
room,  that  the  Headache  had  been  frequent  lately, 
not  to  say  continuous ;  not  evenSimdays  were  exempt. 
"He's  a  sad  sufferer,"  she  said. 
Instead    of    replying    with    something    suitable, 
Ranny  set  his  teeth. 

259 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

She  had  sat  down  helplessly,  and  as  she  spoke  she 
gazed  up  at  him  where  he  remained  standing  by  the 
chimney-piece;  her  look  pleaded,  deprecated,  yet 
obstinately  endeavored  to  deceive.  But  for  once 
Ranny  was  blind  to  the  pathos  of  her  deception. 
Vaguely  her  foolish  secrecy  irritated  him. 

"Look  here.  Mother,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  talk 
to  you.     I've  got  to  tell  you  something." 

"It's  not  anything  about  yoiu-  Father,  Ranny?" 

"No,  it  is  not." 

(She  turned  to  him  from  her  trouble  with  visible 
relief.) 

"It's  about  my  wife." 

"Vi'let?" 

"She's  left  me." 

"  Left  you?     What  d'you  mean,  Ranny?" 

"She's  gone  off— Bolted." 

"When?" 

"Last  night,  I  suppose — to  Paris." 

She  stared  at  him  strangely,  without  sympathy, 
without  comprehension.  It  was  almost  as  if  in  her 
mind  she  accused  him  of  harboring  some  monstrous 
hallucination.  With  her  eternal  instinct  for  sup- 
pression she  fought  against  it,  she  refused  to  take  it  in. 
He  felt  himself  unequal  to  pressing  it  on  her  more 
than  that. 

"Would  she  go  there — all  that  way — by  herself, 
Ranny?"  she  brought  out  at  last. 

"By  herself?     Not  much!" 

"Well— how— " 

And  still  she  would  not  face  the  thing  straight 
enough  to  say,  "How  did  she  go,  then?" 

He  flung  it  at  her  brutally,  exasperated  by  her 
obstinacy. 

260 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"She  went  with  Mercier." 

"With  'im—f     She—' 

Her  face  seemed  suddenly  to  give  way  under  his 
eyes,  to  become  discolored  in  a  frightful  pallor,  to 
fall  piteously  into  the  Hnes  of  age. 

This  face  that  his  words  had  so  crushed  and 
broken  looked  up  at  him  with  all  its  motherhood, 
mute  yet  vibrant,  brimming  in  its  eyes. 

"Sit  down,  dear,"  she  said.  "You'll  be  tired 
standing." 

He  sat  down,  mechanically,  in  the  nearest  chair, 
bending  forward,  contemplating  his  clenched  hands. 
His  posture  put  him  at  her  mercy.  She  came  over 
to  him  and  laid  one  hand  on  his  shoulder;  the  other 
touched  his  hair,  stroking  it.  He  shrank  as  if  she  had 
hurt  him  and  leaned  back.  She  moved  away,  and 
took  up  a  position  in  a  seat  that  faced  him.  There  she 
sat  and  gazed  at  him,  helpless  and  passive,  panting  a 
little  with  emotion ;  until  a  thought  occurred  to  her. 

"Who's  looking  after  the  Httle  children?" 

"Winny — Winny  Dymond." 

"Why  didn't  you  send  for  me,  Ranny?" 

"It  was  too  late — last  night." 

"I'd  have  come,  my  dear.  I'd  have  got  out  of 
me  bed." 

"It  wouldn't  have  done  any  good." 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"Were  you  alone  in  the  house,  dear?" 

He  looked  up,  angry.  "Of  course  I  was  alone 
in  the  house." 

She  sat  silent  and  continued  to  gaze  at  him  with 
her  tender,  wounded  eyes. 

Outside  in  the  passage  the  front-door  bell  rang. 
She  rose  in  perturbation. 

261 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"That's  them.     Do  you  want  to  see  them?" 

"I  don't  care  whether  I  see  them  or  not." 

She  stood  dehberating. 

"You'd  better — p'raps — see  your  uncle.  I'll  tell 
him,  Ranny.     Your  Father's  not  fit  for  it  to-day." 

"All  right." 

He  rose  uneasily  and  prepared  himself  to  take  it 
standing. 

He  heard  them  come  into  the  shop,  his  Uncle  and 
his  Aunt  Randall.  He  heard  his  uncle's  salutation 
checked  in  mid-career.  He  heard  his  mother's  pene- 
trating whisper,  then  mutterings,  commiserations. 
Their  communion  lasted  long  enough  for  him  to 
gather  that  his  mother  would  have  about  told  them 
everything. 

They  came  in,  marking  their  shocked  sense  of  it 
by  soft  shufflings  at  the  door  of  the  parlor,  his  sanc- 
tuary. He  felt  obscurely  that  he  had  become  im- 
portant to  them,  the  chief  figure  of  a  little  infamous 
tragedy.  He  had  a  moment's  intense  and  painful 
prescience  of  the  way  they  would  take  it;  they 
would  treat  him  with  an  excruciating  respect,  an 
awful  deference,  as  a  person  visited  by  God  and 
afflicted  with  unspeakable  calamity. 

And  they  did.  It  was  an  affair  of  downcast  eyes 
and  silent,  embarrassed  and  embarrassing  hand- 
shakings. Ransome  met  it  with  his  head  in  the  air, 
clear-eyed,  defiant  of  their  sympathy. 

"I  think,"  his  mother  said,  "we'd  better  come 
upstairs  if  we  don't  want  to  be  interrupted."  For 
on  Sundays  the  back  parlor  was  assigned  to  the 
young  chemist,  Mercier's  successor,  who  assisted  Mr. 
Ransome. 

Upstairs,  the  ordered  room,  polished  to  per- 
262 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

fection,  steadfast  in  its  shining  Sunday  state,  ap- 
peared as  the  irremovable  seat  of  middle  -  class 
tradition,  of  family  virtue,  of  fidelity  and  cleanliness, 
of  sacred  immutable  propriety.  And  into  the  bosom 
of  these  safe  and  comfortable  sanctities  Ranny  had 
brought  horror  and  defilement  and  destruction. 

His  Uncle  Randall,  try  as  he  would,  could  not 
disguise  from  him  that  this  was  what  he  had  done. 
Because  of  Ranny's  wife,  Respectability,  the  enduring 
soul  of  the  Randalls  and  the  Ransomes,  could  never 
lift  up  its  head  superbly  any  more.  All  infamies  and 
all  abominations  that  could  defile  a  family  were 
summed  up  for  John  Randall  in  the  one  word, 
adultery.  It  was  worse  than  robbery  or  forgery  or 
bankruptcy ;  it  struck  more  home ;  it  did  more  deadly 
havoc  among  the  generations.  It  excited  more  in- 
terest; it  caused  more  talk;  and  therefore  it  marked 
you  more  and  was  not  so  easily  forgotten.  It 
reverberated.  The  more  respectable  you  were  the 
worse  it  was  for  you.  If,  among  the  Randalls  and 
the  Ransomes,  such  a  plunge  as  Violet's  was  unheard 
of,  it  made  the  more  terrific  splash,  a  splash  that 
covered  the  whole  family.  The  Ransomes,  to  be 
sure,  stood  more  in  the  center,  they  were  more 
deplorably  bespattered,  and  more,  much  more  in- 
timately tainted.  But,  by  the  very  closeness  of  their 
family  attachment,  the  mud  of  Violet's  plungings 
would  adhere  largely  to  the  Randalls,  too.  The  taint 
would  hang  for  years  around  him,  John  Randall,  in 
his  shop.  He  had  hardly  entered  his  sister's  room 
before  he  had  calculated  about  how  long  it  would  be 
before  the  scandal  spread  through  Wandsworth  High 
vStreet.  It  wasn't  as  if  he  hadn't  been  well  known„ 
As  a  member  of  the  Borough  Council  he  stuck  in  the 

263 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

public  eye  where  other  men  would  have  slipped 
through  into  obscurity.  It  was  really  worse  for  him 
than  any  of  them. 

All  this  was  present  in  the  back  of  John  Randall's 
mind  as  he  prepared  to  deal  efficiently  with  the 
catastrophe.  Having  unbuttoned  his  coat  and  taken 
off  his  gloves  with  exasperating,  slow,  and  measured 
movements,  he  fairly  sat  down  to  it  at  the  table, 
preserving  his  very  finest  military  air.  The  situation 
required  before  all  things  a  policy.  And  the  policy 
which  most  appealed  to  Mr.  Randall,  in  which  he 
showed  himself  most  efficient,  was  the  policy  of 
a  kindly  hushing  up.  It  was  thus  that  for  years 
he  had  dealt  with  his  brother -in -laws'  inebriety. 
Ranny's  case,  to  be  sure,  was  not  quite  so  simple; 
still,  on  the  essential  point  Mr.  Randall  had  made 
up  his  mind — that,  in  the  discussion  that  must  fol- 
low, the  idea  of  adultery  should  not  once  appear.  If 
they  were  all  of  them  as  a  family  splashed  more  or 
less  from  head  to  foot  with  mud  of  a  kind  that  was 
going  to  stick  to  them,  why,  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  cover  it  up  as  soon  as  possible. 

It  was  in  the  spirit  of  this  policy  that  he  approached 
his  nephew.  It  involved  dealing  with  young  Mrs. 
Ransome  throughout  as  a  good  woman  who  had  be- 
come, somehow,  mysteriously  unfortunate. 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  this  about  your  wife,  Randall. 
It's  a  sad  business,  a  sad  business  for  you,  my  boy." 

From  her  seat  on  the  sofa  beside  Ranny's  mother, 
Aunt  Randall  murmured  inarticulate  corroboration 
of  that  view. 

Ranny  had  remained  standing.  It  gave  him  an 
advantage  in  defiance. 

"I've  never  heard  anything,"  his  uncle  con- 
264 


THE   COMBINED    MAZE 

tinued,  heavily,    "that's  shocked  and  grieved  me 
more.' 

"I  wouldn't  worry  about  it  if  I  were  you,  Uncle." 
At  that  Mr.  Randall  fumed  a  little  feebly,  thereby 
losing  some  of  the  fineness  of  his  military  air.  It  was 
as  if  his  nephew  had  disparaged  his  importance, 
ignored  his  stake  in  the  family's  reputation,  and  as 
good  as  told  him  it  was  no  business  of  his. 

"But  I  must  worry  about  it.  I  can't  take  it  like 
you  do,  as  cool  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Such 
a  thing's  never  been  laiown,  never  so  much  as  been 
named  in  your  mother's  family,  or  your  father's, 
either.     It's — it's  so  imexpected." 

"I  didn't  expect  it  any  more  than  you  did." 
"You  needn't  take  that  tone,  Randall,  my  boy. 
I'm  sorry  for  you,  but  you're  not  the  only  one  con- 
cerned.    Still,  I'm  putting  all  that  aside,  and  I'm 
here  to  help  you." 

"You  can't  help  me.     How  can  you?" 
"I  can  help  you  to  consider  what's  to  be  done." 
"There  isn't  anything  to  be  done  that  I  can  see." 
"There  are   several   things,"   said   Mr.    Randall, 
"that  can  be  done."     He  said  it  as  if  he  were  counsel 
giving  an  opinion.     "You  can  take  her  back;  you 
can  leave  her  alone;  or  you  can  divorce  her.     First 
of  all  I  want  to  know  one  thing.     Did  you  give  her 
any  provocation?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  provocation?" 
"Well — did  you  give  her  any  cause  for  jealousy?" 
Ranny's  mother  struck  in.     "He  wouldn't,  John." 
And  his  Aunt  Randall  murmured  half -audible  and 
shocked  negation. 

Ranny  stared  at  his  uncle  as  if  he  wondered  where 
he  was  coming  out  next. 

265 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Of  course  I  didn't." 

"Are — you — quite — sure  about  that?" 

"You  needn't  ask  him  such  a  thing,"  said  Ranny's 

mother;  and  Ranny  fairly  squared  himself. 

"Look  here,  Uncle,  what  d'you  want  to  get  at?" 

"The  facts,  my  boy." 

"You've  got  all  there  are." 

'  *  How  about  that  young  woman  up  at  your  place  ?" 

' '  What  young  woman  ? "  ; 

"That  Miss—" 

Ranny's  mother  supplied  his  loss.     "Miss   Dy- 

mond." 

"What's  she  got  to  do  with  it?"  said  Ranny. 
"I'm  asking  you.     What  has  she?" 
"Nothing.     You  can  keep  her  out  of  it." 
"That's  what  I  should  advise  you  to  do,  my  boy." 
Ranny  dropped  his  defiance  and  sank  his  flushed 

forehead.     "I  have  kept  her  out  of  it."     His  voice 

was  grave  and  very  low. 

"Not  if  she's  there.     Taking  everything  upon  her 

and  looking  after  your  children." 

"What  harm's  she  doing  looking  after  them?" 
"You'll  soon  know  if  you  take  it  into  a  court  of 

law." 

"Who  told  you  I  was  going  to  take  it?" 
"That's  what  I'm  trying  to  get  at.     Are  you?" 
"Am  I  going  to  divorce  her,  you  mean?" 
That  was  what  he  had  meant.     It  was  also  what 

he  was  afraid  of,  what  he  hoped  to  dissuade  his 

nephew  from.     Above   all   things  he   dreaded   the 

public  scandal  of  divorce. 

"Yes,"  he  said.     "Is  it  bad  enough  for  that?" 
"It's   bad   enough   for   anything.     But   I    don't 

know  what  I'm  going  to  do." 

266 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Well,  it  won't  do  to  have  that  young  woman's 
name  brought  forward  in  the  evidence." 

"Who'd  bring  it?" 

"Why,  she  might"  (Randall's  face  was  blank). 
"Your  wife,  if  she  defends  the  suit.  That  would  be 
her  game,  you  may  be  sure." 

It  would,  Randall  reflected.  That  was  the  very 
point  suggested  last  night  by  his  inner  sanity,  the 
use  that  might  be  made  of  Winny.  Winny's  in- 
nocent presence  in  his  house  might  ruin  his  case  if 
it  were  known.  What  was  worse,  far  worse,  it 
would  ruin  Winny.  Whatever  he  did  he  must  keep 
Winny  out  of  it. 

**I  haven't  said  I  was  going  to  bring  an  action." 

"Well — and  I  don't  advise  you  to.  Why  have 
the  scandal  and  the  publicity  when  you  can  avoid 
it?" 

"Why,  Ranny,"  his  mother  cried,  "it  would  kill 
your  Father." 

Ranny  scowled.     Her  cry  failed  to  touch  him. 

Mr.  Randall  went  on.  He  felt  that  he  was  bring- 
ing his  nephew  round,  that  he  was  getting  the  case 
into  his  own  hands,  the  hands  that  were  most  com- 
petent to  deal  with  it.  It  was  only  to  be  expected 
that  with  his  experience  he  could  see  farther  than 
the  young  man,  his  nephew.  What  Mr.  Randall 
saw  beyond  the  scandal  of  the  Divorce  Court  was  a 
vision  of  young  Mrs.  Ransome,  wanton  with  liberty 
and  plunging  deeper,  splashing  as  she  had  not  yet 
splashed,  bespattering  them  all  to  the  farthest  lim- 
its of  her  range.  The  question  for  Mr.  Randall  was 
how  to  stop  her,  how  to  get  her  out  of  it,  how  to 
bring  her  to  her  sober  senses  before  she  had  done 
more  damage  than  she  had. 

18  267 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  wondered,  had  it  occurred  to  Randall  that  he 
might  take  her  back? 

"Have  you  any  idea,"  he  said,  "what  made  her 
do  it?" 

"Good  God,  what  a  question!" 

Mr.  Randall  made  a  measured,  balancing  move- 
ment of  his  body  while  he  drummed  with  his  fingers 
on  the  table. 

"Well — "  It  was  as  if  he  took  his  question  back, 
conceding  its  enormity.  He  leaned  forward  now 
in  his  balancing,  and  lowered  his  voice  to  the  extreme 
of  confidence. 

"Have  you  any  idea  how  far  she's  gone?"  (It 
was  as  near  as  he  could  get  to  it.) 

"She's  gone  as  far  as  Paris,"  said  Ranny,  with  a 
grin,     "Is  that  far  enough  for  you?" 

Mr.  Randall  leaned  back  as  with  relief,  and  stopped 
balancing.  "It  might  be  worse,"  he  said,  "far 
worse." 

"How  d'you  mean — worse?  Seems  to  me  about 
as  bad  as  it  can  be." 

"It's  unfortunate — but  not  so  serious  as  if — "  He 
paused  profoundly.  He  was  visibly  considering  it 
from  some  private  and  personal  point  of  view.  "She 
might  have  stayed  in  London.  She  might  have  car- 
ried on  at  your  own  door  or  here  in  Wandsworth." 

His  nephew,  Randall,  was  now  regarding  him  with 
an  attention  the  nature  of  which  he  entirely  mis- 
conceived. It  gave  him  courage  to  speak  out — his 
whole  mind  and  no  mincing  matters. 

"If  I  were  you,  Randall,  the  first  thing  I  should 
do  is  to  get  rid  of  that  young  woman — that  Dymond 
girl — "  He  put  up  his  hand  to  ward  off  the  im- 
minent explosion.     "Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  you've  got 

268 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

to  say,  my  boy,  but  it  won't  do.     She's  a  young 

girl-" 

"She's  as  good  as  they  make  them,"  said  Ranny, 
glaring  at  him,  "as  good  as  my  mother  there." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes.  I  know  all  about  it.  But  you 
mustn't  have  her  there." 

"Have  her  where?" 

"Where  I  know  she's  been — ^where  your  mother 
says  she's  been — in  your  house.  Now,  don't  turn 
on  your  mother;  she  hasn't  said  a  word  against  her. 
I'm  not  saying  a  word.  But  you  mustn't — ^have — 
her — about,  Randall.  You  mustn't  have  her  about. 
There'd  be  talk  and  all,  before  you  know  where  you 
are.     It  isn't  right  and  it  isn't  proper." 

"No,  Ranny,  it  isn't  proper,"  said  his  mother;  and 
his  aunt  said.  No,  it  wasn't,  too. 

Ranny  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"You  think  it's  as  improper  as  the  other  thing,  do 


you 


He  addressed  his  uncle. 

"What  other  thing?"  said  Mr.  Randall.  It  had 
made  him  wince  even  while  he  pretended  not  to  see 
it.     It  had  brought  him  so  near. 

"What  my  wife's  done." 

"Well,  Randall,  since  you  ask  me,  to  all  appear- 
ances— appearances,  mind  you — it  is." 

"Appearances?" 

"Well,  you  must  save  appearances,  and  you  must 
save  'em  while  you  can." 

"How  am  I  to  save  them,  I  should  like  to  know?" 

"By  actin'  at  once.  By  stoppin'  it  all  before  it 
gets  about.  You  can't  have  your  wife  over  there 
in  Paris  carryin'  on.  You  must  just  start — soon  as 
you  can — to-morrow — and  bring  her  back." 

269 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Not  much!" 

"It's  what  you  got  to  do,  Randall.  She's  been 
unfortunate,  I  know;  but  she's  young,  and  you  don't 
know  how  she  may  have  been  led  on.  'S  likely's  not 
you  haven't  looked  after  her  enough.  You  don't 
know  but  what  you  may  have  been  responsible. 
You  got  to  take  her  back." 

"What  should  I  take  her  back  for?"  said  Ranny, 
with  false  suavity. 

"To  save  scandal.  To  save  trouble  and  misery 
and  disgrace  all  round.  You  got  to  think  of  your 
family." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  my  family?  Me  and  my 
children?" 

t    "I  mean  the  family  name,  my  boy." 
'    A  frightful  lucidity  had  come  upon  Ranny,  bom 
of  the  calamity  itself.     It  was  not  for  nothing  that 
he  had  attained  that  sudden  violent  maturity  of  his. 
He  saw  things  as  they  were. 

"You  mean  yourself,"  he  said.  "Jolly  lot  you 
think  of  me  and  my  children  if  you  ask  me  to  take 
her  back.     Not  me!     I'll  be  damned  first." 

"You  married  her,  Randall,  against  the  wishes  of 
your  family;  and  you're  responsible  to  your  family 
for  the  way  she  conducts  herself." 

"I  should  rather  think  I  was  responsible!  If  I 
wasn't — ^if  I  was  a  bletherin'  idiot — I  might  take 
her  back — " 

"I  don't  say  if  she  leaves  you  again  you'll  take  her 
back  a  second  time.  But  you  got  to  give  her  a 
chance.  After  all,  she's  the  mother  of  your  chil- 
dren.    You  married  her." 

"Yes.  That's  where  I  went  wrong.  That's  what 
made  her  do  it,  if  you  want  to  know.     Thafs  the 

270 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

provocation  I  gave  her.  It's  what  she  always  had 
against  me — the  children,  and  my  marrying  her. 
And  she  was  right.  She  never  ought  to  have  had 
children.  I  never  ought  to  have  married  her — against 
her  will." 

"Well,  I  can't  think  what  you  did  it  for — in  such 
haste." 

"I  did  it,"  said  Ranny,  in  his  maturity,  his  lucidity, 
"because  it  was  the  way  I  was  brought  up.  I  sup- 
pose, come  to  that,  I  did  it  for  all  j^ou." 

He  saw  everything  now  as  it  was. 

"How  d'you  make  that  out?     Did  it  for  us!" 

Then  Ranny  delivered  his  soul,  and  the  escape, 
the  outburst  was  tremendous,  cataclysmic. 

"For  you  and  your  rotten  respectability!  What 
you  brought  me  up  on.  What  you've  rammed  down 
my  throat  all  along.  What  you're  thinking  of  now. 
You're  not  thinking  of  me ;  you're  thinking  of  your- 
self, and  how  respectable  you  are,  and  how  I've 
dished  you.  You  don't  want  me  to  take  my  wife 
back  because  you  care  a  rap  about  me  and  my  chil- 
dren. It's  because  you're  afraid.  That's  what  it  is, 
you're  afraid.  You're  afraid  of  the  rotten  scandal; 
you're  afraid  of  what  people  '11  say;  you're  afraid 
of  not  looking  respectable  any  more.  You  know 
what  my  wife's  done — you  know  what  she  is — " 

"She's  a  woman,  Randall,  she's  a  woman." 

"She's  a^  Well,  she  is,  and  you  know  it.  You 
know  what  she  is,  and  you  want  me  to  take  her  back 
so  as  you  can  lie  about  it  and  hush  it  all  up  and  pre- 
tend it  isn't  there.  Same  as  you've  done  with  my 
father.     He's  a  drunkard — " 

"For  shame,  Randall,"  said  his  uncle. 

"He  is,  and  you  know  it,  and  he  knows  it,  and  my 

271 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

mother  knows  it.  And  yet  you  go  on  lying  about 
him  and  pretending.  I'm  sick  of  it.  I'm  sick  of 
hearing  about  how  good  he  is,  and  his  Headaches — 
Headaches!" 

"Oh!  Ranny,  dear,"  his  mother  wailed,  piteously. 

"I'm  not  blaming  him,  Mother.  Poor  old  Hum- 
ming-bird, he  can't  help  it.  It's  the  way  he's  made. 
I'm  not  blaming  Virelet.  She  can't  help  it,  either. 
It's  my  faiilt.  If  I'd  wanted  her  to  stick  to  me  I 
oughtn't  to  have  married  her." 

"What  ought  you  to  have  done  then?"  his  uncle 
inquired,  sternly. 

"Anything  but  that.  That's  what  started  her. 
She  couldn't  stand  it.  She'll  stick  to  Mercier  all 
right,  you'll  see,  because  she  isn't  married  to  the 
swine;  whereas  if  I  took  her  back  to-night  she'd 
chuck  me  to-morrow.  Can't  you  see  that  she's  like 
that?  She's  done  the  best  day's  work  she  ever  did 
for  herself  and  me,  too." 

"Well,  how  you  can  speak  about  it  so,  Ranny," 
said  his  mother. 

"There  you're  at  it  again,  you  know — pretendin'. 
You  go  on  as  if  it  was  the  most  horrible  thing  that 
could  happen  to  any  one,  her  boltin',  when  you  know 
the  most  horrible  thing  would  be  her  comin'  back 
again.  To  look  at  you  and  Uncle  and  Aunt  there, 
any  one  would  think  that  Virelet  was  the  best  wife 
and  mother  that  ever  lived,  and  that  she'd  only  left 
me  to  go  to  heaven." 

"Well,  there's  no  good  my  saying  any  more,  I  can 
see,"  said  Mr.  Randall.  And  he  rose,  buttoning  his 
coat  with  dignity  that  struggled  in  vain  against  his 
deep  depression.  He  was  profoundly  troubled  by 
his  nephew's   outburst.      It   was   as   if  peace   and 

272 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

honesty  and  honor,  the  solid,  steadfast  tradition  by 
which  he  Uved,  had  been  first  outraged,  then  de- 
stroyed in  sheer  brutality.  He  didn't  know  him- 
self. He  had  been  charged  with  untruthfulness  and 
dishonesty;  he,  who  had  been  held  the  soul  of  hon- 
esty and  truth;  who  had  always  held  himself  at 
least  sincere. 

And  he  didn't  know  his  nephew  Randall.  He  had 
always  supposed  that  Randall  was  refined  and  that 
he  had  a  good  heart.  And  to  think  that  he  could 
break  out  like  this,  and  be  coarse  and  cruel,  and 
say  things  before  ladies  that  were  downright  im- 
moral— 

"Well,"  he  said,  as  he  shook  hands  with  him,  "I 
can't  understand  you,  my  boy." 

"Sorry,  Uncle." 

"There — leave  it  alone.  I  don't  ask  you  to  apolo- 
gize to  me.  But  there's  your  mother.  You've  done 
your  best  to  hurt  her.     Good-by." 

"He's  upset,  John,"  said  Ranny's  mother,  "and 
no  wonder.     You  should  have  let  him  be." 

"I'm  not  upset,"  said  Ranny,  wearily.  "What 
beats  me  is  the  rotten  humbug  of  it  all." 

And  no  sooner  did  Mr.  Randall  find  himself  in  the 
High  Street  with  his  wife  than  he  took  her  by  the 
arm  in  confidence. 

"He  was  quite  right  about  that  wife  of  his.  Only 
I  thought — if  he  could  have  patched  it  up — " 

"Ah,  I  dare  say  he  knows  more  than  we  do.  What 
I  can't  get  over  is  the  way  he  spoke  about  his  poor 
father." 

"Well — I  wouldn't  say  it  to  Emma,  but  Fulley- 
more  does  drink.     Like  a  fish  he  does." 

(It  was  his  sacrifice  to  honesty.) 
273 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"But  Randall  was  wild.  He  didn't  quite  know 
what  he  was  saying.  Poor  chap!  It's  hit  him  harder 
than  he  thinks." 


Ranny,  alone  with  his  mother,  put  his  arm  round 
her  neck  and  kissed  her.  (She  had  gone  into  her 
room  and  returned  dressed,  ready  to  go  back  with 
him  to  Southfields.) 

"I'm  sorry,  Mother,  if  I  hurt  you." 

"Never  mind,  Ranny,  I  know  how  hurt  you  must 
have  been  before  you  could  do  it.  It  was  what  you 
said  about  your  Father,  dear.  But  there — you've 
always  been  good  to  him  no  matter  what  he's  been." 

"Is  he  very  bad,  Mother?" 

"He  is.  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  how  I'm  going 
to  leave  him;  unless  he  can  manage  with  Mabel 
and  Mr.  Ponting.  She's  a  good  girl,  Mabel.  And 
he's  got  a  kind  heart,  Ranny,  that  young  man." 

"D'you  think  I  haven't?" 

"I  wasn't  meaning  you,  my  dear.  Come,  I'm 
ready  now." 

They  went  downstairs.  Mrs.  Ransome  paused 
at  the  kitchen  door  to  give  some  final  directions  to 
Mabel,  the  maid,  and  a  message  for  Mr.  Ponting, 
the  assistant;  and  they  went  out. 

As  they  were  going  down  the  High  Street,  her 
thoughts  reverted  to  Ranny 's  awful  outburst. 

"Ranny,  I  wish  you  hadn't  spoken  to  your  uncle 
like  you  did." 

"I  know,  Mother — but  he  set  my  back  up.  He 
was  talkin'  through  his  Sunday  hat  all  the  time,  pre- 
tendin'  to  stick  up  for  Virelet,  knowin'  perfectly 
well  what  she  is,  and  cussin'  and  swearin'  at  her  for 

274 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

it  in  his  heart,  and  naggin'  at  me  because  there  wasn't 
anybody  else  to  go  for." 

"He  was  trying  to  help  you,  Ranny." 

"If  God  can't  help  me,  strikes  me  it's  pretty  fair 
cheek  of  Uncle  to  presume — "     He  meditated. 

"But  he  wasn't  tryin'  to  help  me.  He  was  think- 
in'  how  he  could  help  his  own  damned  respectability 
all  the  blessed  time.  He  knows  what  a  bloomin' 
hell  it's  been  for  Virelet  and  me  this  last  year — and 
he'd  have  forced  us  back  into  it — ^into  aU  that  misery 
— just  to  save  his  own  silly  skin." 

"No,  dear,  it  isn't  that.  He  doesn't  think  Vi'let 
should  be  let  go  on  living  like  she  is  if  you  can  stop 
her.     He  thinks  it  isn't  proper." 

"Well,  that's  what  I  say.  It's  his  old  blinkin', 
bletherin'  morality  he's  takin'  care  of,  not  me. 
Everybody's  got  to  live  like  he  thinks  they  ought  to, 
no  matter  how  they  hate  it.  If  two  Kilkenny  cats 
he  knew  was  to  get  married  and  one  of  them  was  to 
bolt  he'd  fetch  her  back  and  tie  'em  both  up,  heads 
together,  so  as  she  shouldn't  do  it  again.  And  if 
they  clawed  each  other's  guts  out  he  wouldn't  care. 
He'd  say  they  were  livin'  a  nice,  virtuous,  respect- 
able and  moral  life. 

"What  rot  it  all  is! 

"  Stop  her?  As  if  any  one  could  stop  her!  God 
knows  she  can't  stop  herself,  poor  girl.  She's  made 
like  that.     I'm  not  blamin'  her." 

For,  with  whatever  wildness  Ranny  started,  he 
always  came  back  to  that — He  didn't  blame  her. 
He  knew  whereof  she  was  made.  It  was  proof  of 
his  sudden,  forced  maturity,  that  imfaltering  accept- 
ance of  the  fact. 

"Talk  of  helpin'!  Strikes  me  poor  Vi's  helpin' 
275 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

more    than    anybody,    by    clearin'    out    like    she's 
done." 

That  was  how,  with  a  final  incomparable  serenity, 
he  made  it  out. 

But  his  mother  took  it  all  as  so  much  wildness, 
the  delirium,  the  madness,  bom  of  his  calamity. 

"He'd  have  been  all  right  if  I'd  been  ass  enough 
to  play  into  his  hands  and  gone  blowin'  me  nose  and 
grizzlin',  and  whinin'  about  my  misfortune,  and  let 
him  go  gassin'  about  the  sadness  of  it  and  all  that. 
But  because  I  kept  my  end  up  he  went  for  me. 

"Sadness!  He  doesn't  know  what  sadness  is  or 
misfortune. 

' '  My  God !  If  every  poor  beggar  had  the  luck  I've 
had — to  be  let  off  without  having  to  pay  for  it!" 

Up  till  then  his  mother  had  kept  silence.  She 
had  let  him  rave.  "Poor  boy,"  she  had  said  to  her- 
self, "he  doesn't  mean  it.     It  '11  do  him  good." 

But  when  he  talked  about  not  having  to  pay  for 
it,  that  reminded  her  that  paying  for  it  was  just 
what  he  would  have  to  do. 

"How'U  you  manage,"  she  said  now,  "about  the 
children?  I  can  take  them  for  a  week  or  two  or 
more  while  you  get  settled." 

"Would  you?" 

It  was  a  way  out  for  the  present. 

"I'd  take  them  altogether— I'd  love  to,  Ranny — 
if  it  wasn't  for  your  Father  bein'  ill." 

In  spite  of  the  cataclysm,  she  still  by  sheer  force 
of  habit  kept  it  up. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  take  them  altogether,"  he 
said. 

"I  could  do  it — ^if  you  was  to  come  with  them — " 

That,  indeed,  was  what  she  wanted,  the  heavenly 

276 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

possibility  she  had  sighted  from  the  first.  But  she 
had  hardly  dared  to  suggest  it.  Even  now,  putting 
out  her  tremorous  feeler,  she  shrank  back  from  his 
refusal. 

"If  you  could  let  Granville — and  come  and  live 
with  us." 

His  silence  and  his  embarrassment  pierced  her  to 
the  heart. 

"Won't  you?"  she  ventured. 

"Well — I've  got  to  think  of  them.  For  them,  in 
some  ways,  the  poor  old  Humming-bird  might,  you 
see,  be  almost  as  bad  as  Virelet." 

She  knew.  She  had  known  it  all  the  time.  She 
had  even  got  so  far  in  knowledge  as  to  see  that 
Ranny's  father  was  in  a  measure  responsible  for 
Ranny's  marriage.  If  Ranny  had  had  more  life, 
more  freedom,  and  more  happiness  around  him  in 
his  home,  he  would  not  have  been  driven,  as  he  was, 
to  Violet. 

"Well,  dear,  you  just  think  it  over.  If  you  don't 
come  you  must  get  somebody." 

Yes.  He  must  get  somebody.  He  had  thought 
of  that. 

"It  can't  be  Winny  Dymond,  dear." 

"No,"  he  assented.  "It  can't  be  Winny  Dy- 
mond." 

"And  you'll  have  to  come  to  me  imtil  I  can  find 
you  some  one." 

They  left  it  so.  After  all,  it  made  things  easier, 
the  method  that  his  mother  had  brought  to  such 
perfection,  her  way  of  skating  rapidly  over  brittle 
surfaces,  of  circumnavigating  all  profound  unpleas- 
antness, and  of  plunging,  when  she  did  plunge,  only 
into  the  vague,  the  void. 

277 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  through  it  all  he  was  aware  of  the  brittleness, 
the  unpleasantness,  the  profundity  of  what  was 
immediately  before  him,  how  to  deal  with  poor 
Winny  and  her  innocent  enormity ;  the  impropriety, 
as  it  had  been  presented  to  him,  of  her  devotion. 

But  even  this  problem,  so  torturing  to  his  nerves, 
was  presently  lost  sight  of  in  the  simple,  practical 
difficulty  of  detaching  Winny  from  the  children;  or 
rather,  of  detaching  the  children  from  Winny,  of 
tearing,  as  they  had  to  tear,  them  from  her,  piece- 
meal, first  Baby,  then  Dossie,  with  every  circum- 
stance of  barbarous  cruelty. 

It  was  a  spectacle,  an  operation  of  such  naked 
agony  that  before  it  the  most  persistent,  the  most 
incorruptible  sense  of  propriety  broke  down.  It  was 
too  much  altogether  for  Mrs.  Ransome. 

Dossie  was  the  worst.  She  had  strength  in  her 
little  fingers,  and  she  clung. 

And  the  crying,  the  cr3dng  of  the  two,  terrible  to 
Ranny,  terrible  to  Winny,  the  passionate  screams, 
the  strangled  sobs,  the  long,  irremediable  wailing, 
the  terrifying  convulsive  silences,  the  awful  inter- 
missions and  shattering  recoveries  of  anguish — ^it 
was  as  if  their  innocence  had  insight,  had  premoni- 
tion of  the  monstrous,  imminent  separation,  of  the 
wrong  that  he  and  she  were  about  to  do  to  each 
other  in  the  name  of  such  sanctities  as  innocence 
knows  nothing  of.  For  outrage  and  wrong  it  was 
to  the  holy  primal  instincts,  drawing  them,  as  it  had 
drawn  them  long  ago,  seeking  to  bind  them  again, 
body  and  soul,  breaking  all  other  bonds;  insult  and 
violence  to  honest  love,  to  fatherhood  and  mother- 
hood, to  the  one  (one  and  threefold)  perfection  that 
they  could  stand  for,  he  and  she. 

27S 


THE    COMBINED   MAZE 

It  ended  by  its  sheer  terror  in  Winny's  staying 
just  for  that  evening,  to  put  the  little  things  to  sleep. 
For  nobody  else,  not  Ranny,  and  not  his  mother,  was 
able  to  do  that.  The  dark  design  of  their  torturers 
was  to  take  these  innocent  ones  by  night,  drugged 
with  their  sleep,  and  pack  them  in  the  pram,  snugly 
blanketed,  and  thus  convey  them  in  secrecy  to 
Wandsworth,  where,  it  was  hoped,  they  v/ould  wake 
up,  poor  lambs,  to  a  morning  without  memory. 

"Well — Winky,"  he  said.  But  it  was  not  yet 
well.  He  had  to  stand  by  and  see  Winky  stoop  over 
Baby's  cot  '(it  was  her  right)  for  the  last  look. 

She  knew  it  was  her  last  look,  in  that  room — 
in  that  way  that  had  been  the  way  of  innocence. 

"Well,  I  never!"  said  Rannj^'s  mother,  as  he  re- 
turned from  seeing  Winky  home.  (So  much  was 
permitted  him.     It  was  even  imperative.) 

"Did  they  ever  cry  like  that  for  their  Mammy?" 

He  smiled  grimly.  His  illumination  was  more 
than  he  could  bear. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

IT  was  in  the  cruelty  of  it,  in  that  sudden  barbar- 
ous tearing  of  the  children  from  Winny,  of  Winny 
from  Ransome,  and  of  Ransome  from  his  home,  in 
that  hurried,  surreptitious  flight  through  the  dark- 
ness, that  he  most  felt  the  pressure  and  the  malig- 
nant pinch  of  poverty.  Owing  to  his  straitened  cir- 
cumstances, with  all  his  mother's  forethought  and 
good  will,  with  all  the  combined  resources  of  their  in- 
genuity, they  could  do  no  better  to  meet  his  lament- 
able case  than  this.  "This,"  indeed,  was  impera- 
tive, inevitable.  He  reflected  bitterly  that,  if  he 
had  been  a  rich  man,  like  the  manager  or  the  secre- 
tary of  Woolridge's,  instead  of  a  ledger  clerk  (that 
was  all  that  his  last  rise  had  made  him)  at  a  hundred 
and  fifty  a  year,  he  would  have  been  spared  "this." 
It  would  have  been  neither  inevitable  nor  impera- 
tive. It  simply  wouldn't  have  happened.  He  would 
have  had  a  house  with  a  staff  of  competent  servants, 
a  nurse  for  the  children,  a  cook,  and  maybe  a  house- 
maid to  manage  for  him,  and  so  forth.  Winny 
wouldn't  have  come  into  it.  It  would  never  have 
occurred  to  her  to  run  the  risks  she  had  run  for  him. 
There  would  have  been  no  need.  She  would  have 
remained,  serene,  beautiful  in  sympathy,  outside  his 
calamity,  untouched  by  its  sordidness,  its  taint. 
All  the  machinery  of  his  household  would  have  gone 
on  in  spite  of  it,  without  any  hitch  or  dislocation, 

280 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

working  all  the  more  smoothly  in  the  absence  of  its 
mistress. 

That  was  how  rich  people  came  out  of  this  sort  of 
thing,  right  side  up,  smiling,  knowing  as  they  did 
that  there  was  nothing  to  spoil  the  peace  of  it  for 
them,  or  make  them  apt  to  mistake  it  for  any- 
thing but  the  blessing  that  it  was.  Thus  they  got, 
as  you  may  say,  the  whole  good  out  of  it  without 
any  waste.  At  the  worst,  if  they  didn't  like  it,  rich 
people,  driven  to  flight,  depart  from  the  scene  of 
their  disaster  with  dignity,  in  cabs. 

But  Ranny's  departiu-e,  with  all  its  ignominy,  was 
not  by  any  means  the  worst.  The  worst,  incom- 
parably, was  the  going  back  on  Monday  evening  to 
settle  up.  There  was  a  man  coming  from  Wands- 
worth with  a  handcart  for  the  cots,  the  high  chair 
and  all  the  babies'  furniture,  and  the  kids'  toys  and 
the  little  clothes,  their  whole  diminutive  outfit,  and 
for  what  he  needed  of  his  own.  And  when  all  the 
packing  was  done  he  would  still  have  to  go  into 
things. 

By  the  things  he  had  to  go  into  he  meant  the 
drawers  and  the  cupboards  in  his  wife's  room. 

And  such  things!  It  was  as  if  the  whole  tale  of 
her  adultery,  with  all  its  secret  infamy,  its  squalor, 
its  utter  callousness,  was  there  in  that  room  of  the 
love-knots  and  the  rosebuds. 

In  the  locked  wardrobe — the  key  was  on  the  chim- 
ney piece  where  he  could  find  it — he  came  on  her 
old  skirts,  draggled  and  torn  and  stained  as  he  had 
known  them,  on  the  muslin  gown  of  last  year,  loath- 
some and  limp,  bent  like  a  hanged  corpse;  and  on 
her  very  nightgown  of  the  other  night,  dreadfully 
familiar,  shrinking,  poor  ghost  of  an  abomination, 

281 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

/ 

in  its  corner.     And  under  them,  in  a  row,  the  shoes 

that  her  feet  had  gone  in,  misshapen,  trodden  down 
at  heel,  gaping  to  deliver  up  her  shame. 

These  things  Winny  had  collected  and  put  away 
in  order,  and  hidden  out  of  his  sight  as  best  she 
could.  Seeing,  she  too,  the  tale  they  told,  she  had 
hung  a  sheet  in  front  of  them  and  locked  the  door  on 
them  and  laid  the  key  aside,  to  break  in  some  degree 
the  shock  of  them.  For  they  were  things  that  had 
been  good  enough  for  him,  but  not  good  enough  for 
Violet's  lover.  She  had  gone  to  him  in  all  her 
bravery,  leaving  them  behind,  not  caring  who  found 
them. 

And  there  was  more  to  be  gone  through  before 
he  had  finished  with  it.  There  were  the  drawers, 
crammed  with  little  things,  the  collars,  the  ribbons 
and  the  laces,  and  one  or  two  trinkets  that  he  had 
given  her,  cast  off  with  the  rest,  all  folded  and  tidied 
by  Winny,  smoothed  and  coaxed  out  of  the  memories 
they  held,  the  creases  that  betrayed  the  slattern; 
and  with  them,  tucked  away  by  Winny,  defiled  be- 
yond redemption,  almost  beyond  recognition,  the 
sachet,  smelling  of  violets  and  with  the  word  "Vio- 
let" sprawling  all  across  it  in  embroidery. 

All  these  things,  the  dresses,  the  shoes,  and  the 
rest  of  them,  he  gathered  up  in  handfuls  and  flung 
into  an  old  trunk  which  he  locked  and  pushed  under 
the  bed. 

Then  he  set  his  teeth  and  went  on  with  his  task. 
In  the  soiled  linen  basket,  among  his  own  handker- 
chiefs as  he  counted  them,  he  found  one  queerly 
scented  and  of  a  strange,  arresting  pattern.  It  had 
the  monogram  "L.  M."  stitched  into  the  comer. 
She  must  have  borrowed  it  from  the  beast.     Or 

2S2 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

else — the  beast  had  been  in  the  house  and  had  left 
it  there. 

That  finished  him. 


Finished  as  he  was  in  every  sense,  thoroughly  in- 
structed, furnished  with  details  that  fitted  out  and 
rounded  off  all  that  was  vague  and  incomplete  in 
his  vision  of  the  thing,  he  was  still  unprepared  for 
the  question  with  which  his  mother  met  him. 

"Have  you  told  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Usher?" 

He  hadn't. 

He  had  forgotten  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Usher,  forgotten 
that  this  prolongation  of  his  ordeal  would  be  neces- 
sary. 

"Well,  you'll  have  to." 

"Of  course  I'll  have  to." 

"Will  you  go  and  see  him?" 

"No.     I— can't.     I'll  write." 

He  wrote  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  at  Wool- 
ridge's,  in  the  luncheon  hour  when  he  had  the  ledger 
clerks'  pen  to  himself.     He  was  very  brief. 

He  received  his  father-in-law's  reply  by  return. 
Mr.  Usher  made  no  comment  beyond  an  almost 
perfunctory  expression  of  regret.  But  he  said  that 
he  must  see  Randall.  And,  as  the  journey  between 
Elstree  and  Wandsworth  was  somewhat  long  to  be 
undertaken  after  office  hours,  he  proposed  the  "Bald- 
Faced  Stag,"  Edgware,  as  a  convenient  halfway 
house  for  them  to  meet  at,  and  Wednesday,  at  seven 
or  thereabouts,  as  the  day  and  hour.  Thus  he  al- 
lowed time  for  Randall  to  receive  his  letter  and,  if 
necessary,  to  answer  it.  No  telegraphing  for  Mr. 
Usher,  except  in  case  of  death,  actual  or  imminent. 

19  283 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Ransome  supposed  that  he  would  have  to  see  him 
and  get  it  over.  Soon  after  seven  on  Wednesday, 
then,  Mr.  Usher  having  ridden  over  on  his  mare 
Polly  and  Ransome  on  his  bicycle,  they  met  in  the 
parlor  of  the  "Bald-Faced  Stag,"  Edgware.  Mr. 
Usher's  friend  the  landlord  had  undertaken  that 
they  should  not  be  disturbed. 

It  was  impossible  for  Ransome  not  to  notice  some- 
thing queer  about  his  father-in-law,  something  ut- 
terly unlike  the  bluff  and  genial  presence  he  had 
known.  Mr.  Usher  seemed  to  have  shrunk  some- 
how and  withered,  so  that  you  might  have  said  the 
catastrophe  had  hit  him  hard,  if  that,  his  mere 
bodily  shrinkage,  had  been  all.  What  struck  Ran- 
some as  specially  queer  about  Mr.  Usher  was  his 
manner  and  the  expression  of  his  face.  You  could 
almost  have  called  it  crafty.  Guilty  it  was,  too, 
consciously  guilty,  the  furtive  face  of  a  man  on  the 
defensive,  armed  with  all  his  little  cunning  against 
a  possible  attack,  having  entrenched  himself  in  the 
parlor  of  the  "Bald-Faced  Stag"  as  on  neutral  terri- 
tory. 

"What  say  to  a  bit  of  supper,  my  boy,  before 
we  begin  business?" 

It  was  a  false  and  feeble  imitation  of  his  old  hearti- 
ness. 

Over  a  supper  of  cold  ham  and  cheese  and  beer 
they  discussed  Ransome's  father's  health  and  his 
mother's  health,  and  Mrs.  Usher's  health,  which  was 
poor,  and  Mr.  Usher's  prospects,  which  were  poorer, 
not  to  say  bad.  He  leaned  on  this  point  and  re- 
turned to  it,  as  if  it  might  have  a  possible  bearing 
on  the  matter  actually  in  hand,  and  with  a  certain 
disagreeable  effect  of  craftiness  and  intention.     It 

284 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

was  as  if  he  wished  to  rub  it  in  that  whatever  else 
Randall  forgot,  he  wasn't  to  forget  that,  that  he  had 
nothing  to  look  to,  nothing  to  hope  for  in  his  father- 
in-law's  prospects ;  as  if  he,  Mr.  Usher,  had  arranged 
this  meeting  at  the  "  Bald-Faced  Stag  "  for  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  making  that  clear,  of  forestalling 
all  possible  misunderstanding.  He  kept  it  before 
him,  with  the  cheese  and  beer,  on  the  brown  oil- 
cloth of  the  table  from  which  poor  Randall  found 
it  increasingly  difficult  to  lift  his  eyes. 

It  was  almost  a  relief  to  him  when  Mr.  Usher 
pushed  his  plate  away  with  a  groan  of  satiety,  and 
began. 

"Well,  what's  all  this  I  hear  about  Virelet?" 

Randall  intimated  that  he  had  heard  all  there 
was. 

"Yes,  but  what's  the  meaning  of  it?  That's  what 
I  want  to  know." 

Randall  put  it  that  its  meaning  was  that  it  had 
simply  happened,  and  suggested  that  his  father-in- 
law  was  in  every  bit  as  good  a  position  for  imder- 
standing  it  as  he. 

"I  dare  say.  But  what  I'm  trying  to  get  at  is — 
did  you  do  anything  to  make  it  happen?" 

"What  on  earth  do  you  suppose  I  did?" 

"There  might  be  faults  on  both  sides,  though  I 
don't  say  as  there  were.  But  did  you  do  anything 
to  prevent  it?     Tell  me  that." 

"What  could  I  do?  I  didn't  know  it  was  going  to 
happen." 

"You  should  have  known.  You  was  warned  fair 
enough." 

' '  Was  I  ?     Who  warned  me,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"Why,  I  did,  and  her  mother  did.  Told  you 
285 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

straight.  Don't  you  go  for  to  say  that  I  let  you 
marry  the  girl  under  false  pretenses,  or  her  mother 
either.  I  told  you  what  sort  Virelet  was,  straight 
as  I  could,  without  vilifying  my  own  flesh  and  blood. 
Did  you  want  me  to  tell  you  straighter?  Did  you 
want  me  to  put  a  name  to  it?" 

His  little  eyes  shot  sidelong  at  Randall,  out  of  his 
fallen,  shrunken  fatness,  more  than  ever  crafty  and 
intent. 

He  was  pitiful.  Randall  could  have  been  sorry 
for  him  but  that  he  showed  himself  so  mean.  His 
little  eyes  gave  him  so  villainously  away.  They  dis- 
closed the  fullness  of  his  knowledge;  they  said  he 
had  known  things  about  Violet ;  he  had  known  them 
all  the  time,  things  that  he,  Randall,  never  knew. 
And  he  hadn't  let  on,  not  he.  Why  should  he?  He 
had  been  too  eager,  poor  man,  to  get  Violet  married. 
His  eagerness,  that  had  appeared  as  the  hardy  flower 
of  his  geniality,  betrayed  itself  now  as  the  sinister 
thing  it  was — when  you  thought  of  the  name  that 
he  could  have  given  her! 

Randall  did  not  blame  him.  He  was  past  blam- 
ing anybody.  He  only  said  to  himself  that  this 
explained  what  had  seemed  so  inexplicable — the 
attitude,  the  incredible  attitude  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.. 
Usher;  how  they  had  leaped  at  him  in  all  his  glaring 
impossibility,  an  utter  stranger,  with  no  adequate 
income  and  no  prospects;  how  they  had  hurried  on 
the  marriage  past  all  prudence ;  how  they  had  driven 
him  on  and  fooled  him  and  helped  him  to  his  folly. 

But  he  was  not  going  to  let  them  fool  him  any 
more. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Usher,  I  don't  know  what  your 
game  is  and  I  don't  care.     I  dare  say  you  think  you 

286 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

told  me  what  you  say  you  did.  But  you  didn't. 
You  didn't  tell  me  anything — not  one  blessed  thing. 
And  if  you  had  it  wouldn't  have  done  any  good.  I 
wouldn't  have  believed  you.  You  needn't  reproach 
yourself.  I  was  mad  on  Virelet.  I  meant  to  marry 
her  and  I  did  marry  her.     That's  all." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Usher,  partially  abandoning  his 
position,  "so  long  as  you  don't  hold  me  responsible — " 

"Of  course,  I  don't  hold  you  responsible." 

"I'm  sure  me  and  the  Missis  we've  done  what 
we  could  to  make  it  easier  for  you." 

He  gazed  before  him,  conjuring  up  between  them 
a  quiet  vision  of  the  long  procession  of  hampers,  a 
reminder  to  Randall  of  how  deeply,  as  it  was,  he 
stood  indebted. 

"And  we  can't  do  no  more.  That's  how  it  is. 
No  more  we  can't  do." 

"I'm  not  asking  you  to  do  anything.  What  do 
you  want?" 

"I  want  to  know  what  you're  going  to  do,  my 
boy." 

"Do?" 

"Yes,  do." 

"About  what?" 

"About  Virelet.  Talk  of  responsibility,  you  took 
it  on  yourself  contrary  to  the  warnings  what  you 
had,  when  you  married  her.  And  having  taken  it 
you  ought  to  have  looked  after  her.  Knowing  what 
she  is  you  ought  to  have  looked  after  her  better 
than  you've  done." 

"How  could  I  have  looked  after  her?" 

"How?  Why,  as  any  other  man  would.  You 
should  have  made  her  work,  work  with  her  'ands, 
as  I  told  you,  'stead  of  giving  her  her  head,  like  you 

2S7 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

did,  and  lettin'  her  sit  bone-idle  in  that  gimcrack 
doll-house  of  yours  from  morning  till  night.  Why, 
you  should  have  taken  a  stick  to  her.  There's  many 
a  man-  as  would,  before  he'd  'a'  let  it  come  to  that. 
Damn  me  if  I  know  why  you  didn't." 

"Well,  really,  Mr.  Usher,  I  suppose  I  couldn't  for- 
get she  was  a  woman." 

' '  Woman  ?  Woman  ?  I '  d  'a '  womaned  'er !  Look 
'ere,  my  boy,  it's  a  sad  business,  and  there's  no  one 
sorrier  for  you  than  I  am,  but  there's  no  good  you 
and  me  broodin'  mournful  over  what  she's  done. 
Course  she'd  do  it,  's  long's  you  let  her.  You  hadn't 
ought  to  'ave  let  'er.  And  seein'  as  how  you  have, 
seems  to  me  what  you've  got  to  do  now  is  to  take 
her  back  again." 

"I  can't  take  her  back  again." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because  of  the  children — for  one  thing." 

That  argument  had  its  crushing  effect  on  Mr. 
Usher.  It  made  him  pause  a  perceptible  moment 
before  he  answered. 

"Well — you  needn't  look  to  me  and  her  mother 
to  'ave  her — " 

Randall  rose,  as  much  as  to  say  that  this  was 
enough;   it  was  too  much;   it  was  the  end. 

"We've  done  with  her.  You  took  her  out  of  our 
'ands  what  'ad  a  hold  on  her,  and  you  owe  it  to  her 
mother  and  me  to  take  her  back." 

"If  that's  all  you've  got  to  say,  Mr.  Usher — " 

"It  isn't  all  I've  got  to  say.  What  I  got  to  say 
is  this.  Before  you  was  married,  Randall,  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  now,  my  girl  was  a  bit  too  close 
about  you  for  my  fancy.  I've  never  rightly  under- 
stood how  you  two  came  together." 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

There,  as  they  fixed  him,  his  little  eyes  took  on 
their  craftiness  again  and  his  mouth  a  smile,  a  smile 
of  sensual  tolerance  and  iinderstanding,  as  between 
one  man  of  the  world  and  another. 

"I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  want  to  know.  But 
however  it  was — I'm  not  askin',  mind  you — how- 
ever it  was"  —  He  was  all  solemn  now  —  "you 
made  yoiirself  responsible  for  that  girl.  And  re- 
sponsible you  will  be  held." 

It  may  have  been  that  Mr.  Usher  drew  a  bow  at 
a  venture;  it  may  have  been  that  he  really  knew, 
that  he  had  always  known.  Anyhow,  that  last  stroke 
of  his  was,  in  its  way,  consummate.  It  made  it  im- 
possible for  Randall  to  hit  back  effectively;  impos- 
sible for  him  to  say  now,  if  he  had  wished  to  say  it, 
that  he  had  not  been  warned  (for  it  seemed  to  imply 
that  if  Mr.  Usher's  suspicions  were  correct,  Randall 
had  had  an  all-sufficient  warning);  impossible  for 
him  to  maintain,  as  against  a  father  whom  he,  upon 
the  supposition,  had  profoundly  injured,  an  attitude 
of  superior  injury.  If  Mr.  Usher  had  deceived 
Randall,  hadn't  Randall,  in  the  first  instance,  de- 
ceived Mr.  Usher?  In  short,  it  left  them  quits. 
It  closed  Randall's  mouth,  and  with  it  the  discussion, 
and  so  that  the  balance  as  between  them  leaned  if 
anything  to  Mr.  Usher's  side. 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Randall." 

As  if  he  could  afford  it  now,  Mr.  Usher  permitted 
himself  a  return  to  geniality.  He  paused  in  the 
doorway. 

"If  at  any  time  you  should  want  a  hamper,  you've 
only  got  to  say  so." 

And  Randall  did  not  blame  him.  He  said  to  him- 
self:  "Poor  old  thing.     It's  f link — pure  fimk.     He's 

289 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

afraid  he  may  have  to  take  her  back  himself.     And 
who  could  blame  him?" 

Funny  that  his  father-in-law  should  have  taken 
the  same  line  as  his  Uncle  Randall.  Only,  whereas 
his  Uncle  Randall  had  reckoned  with  the  alternative 
of  divorce,  his  father-in-law  had  not  so  much  as 
hinted  at  the  possibility. 


It  was  almost  as  if  Mr.  Usher  had  had  a  glimpse 
of  what  was  to  come  when  he  had  been  in  such  haste, 
haste  that  had  seemed  in  the  circumstances  hardly 
decent,  to  saddle  Ransome  with  the  responsibility. 

For,,  if  Ransome  had  really  thought  that  Violet 
was  going  to  let  him  off  without  his  paying  for  it, 
the  weeks  that  followed  brought  him  proof  more 
than  sufficient  of  his  error.  He  had  sown  to  the 
winds  in  the  recMessness  of  his  marriage  and  of  his 
housekeeping,  and  he  reaped  the  whirlwind  in  Vio- 
let's bills  that  autumn  shot  into  the  letter  box  at 
Granville. 

He  called  there  every  other  day  for  letters;  for 
he  was  not  yet  prepared,  definitely,  to  abandon 
Granville. 

The  bills,  when  he  had  gathered  them  all  in, 
amounted  in  their  awful  total  to  twenty  pounds  odd, 
a  sum  that  exceeded  his  worst  dreams  of  Violet's 
possible  expenditure.  He  had  realized,  in  the  late 
summer  and  autumn  of  last  year,  before  the  period 
of  compulsory  retirement  had  set  in,  that  his  wife 
was  beginning  to  cost  him  more  than  she  had  ever 
done,  more  than  any  woman  of  his  class,  so  far  as 
he  knew,  would  have  dreamed  of  costing;  and  this 
summer,   no  sooner  had  she  emerged  triumphant 

290 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

than — with  two  children  now  to  provide  for — she 
had  launched  out  upon  a  scale  that  fairly  terrified 
him.  But  all  her  past  extravagance  did  nothing  to 
prepare  him  for  the  extent  to  which,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  she  could  "go  it,"  when  she  had,  as  you 
might  say,  an  incentive. 

The  most  astounding  of  the  bills  his  whirlwind 
swept  him  was  the  bill  from  Starker's — from  Oxford 
Street,  if  you  please — and  the  bill  (sent  in  with  a 
cynical  promptitude)  from  the  chemist  in  Acacia 
Avenue  at  the  comer.  That,  the  chemist's,  was 
in  a  way  the  worst.  It  was  for  scent,  for  toilette 
articles,  strange  yet  familiar  to  him  from  their  pres- 
ence in  his  father's  shop,  for  all  manner  of  cosmetics, 
for  things  so  outrageous,  so  unnecessary,  that  they 
witnessed  chiefly  to  the  shifts  she  had  been  put  to, 
to  her  anxieties  and  hastes,  to  the  feverish  multi- 
pHcation  of  pretexts  and  occasions.  Still,  they 
amounted  but  to  a  few  pounds  and  an  odd  shilling 
or  two.     Starker's  bill  did  the  rest. 

That,  the  high,  resplendent  "cheek"  of  it,  showed 
what  she  was  capable  of ;  it  gave  him  the  measure  of 
her  father's  "funk,"  for,  of  not  one  of  the  items, 
from  the  three-guinea  costumes  (there  were  several 
of  them)  down  to  the  dozen  of  openwork  Lisle- 
thread  hose  at  two  and  eleven  the  pair,  had  Ran- 
some  so  much  as  suspected  the  existence.  The 
three-guinea  costumes  he  could  understand.  It  was 
the  three  nightgowns,  trimmed  lace,  at  thirteen, 
fifteen,  and  sixteen  shillings  apiece,  that  took  his 
breath  away,  as  with  a  vision  of  her  purposes.  Still, 
to  him,  her  husband,  Starker's  statement  of  account 
represented  directly,  with  the  perfection  of  business 
precision,  the  cost  of  getting  rid  of  her;    it  was  so 

291 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

simply  and  openly  the  cost  of  her  outfit,  of  all  that 
she  had  trailed  with  her  in  her  flight. 

Yet,  as  he  grasped  it,  he  saw  with  that  mature 
comprehension  which  was  now  his,  that,  awful  as 
it  was,  that  total  of  twenty  pounds  odd  represented, 
perfectly,  the  price  of  peace.  It  was  open  to  him 
to  repudiate  his  wife's  debts,  in  which  case  she 
would  appear  in  the  County  Court,  which,  with  its 
effect  of  publicity,  with  the  things  that  would  be 
certain  to  come  out  there,  was  almost  as  bad  as  the 
Divorce  Court.  Then  the  unfortunate  tradespeople 
would  not  be  paid,  a  result  of  her  conduct  which  was 
intolerable  to  Ranny's  decency.  Besides,  he  wanted 
to  be  rather  more  than  decent,  to  be  handsome,  in 
his  squaring  of  accounts  with  the  woman  whom, 
after  all,  in  the  beginning  he  had  wronged.  He 
could  even  reflect  with  a  humor  surviving  all  calam- 
ity, that  though  twenty-odd  pounds  was  a  devil  of 
a  lot  to  pay,  his  deliverance  was  cheap,  dirt  cheap, 
at  the  money. 

But  that  was  not  all.     There  was  Granville. 

He  hated  Granville.  He  could  not  believe  how 
he  ever  could  have  loved  it.  The  fact  that  he  was 
gradually  becoming  his  own  landlord  only  made 
things  worse.  It  gave  Granville  a  maHgnant  power 
over  him,  that  power  which  he  had  once  or  twice 
suspected,  the  power  to  round  on  him  and  injure 
him  and  pay  him  back.  He  knew  he  was  partly 
responsible  for  Granville's  degradation.  He  had 
done  nothing  for  this  property  of  his.  He  had  not 
given  it  a  distinctive  character;  he  had  not  covered 
it  with  creepers  or  painted  it  green  or  built  a  bal- 
cony.    He  had  left  it  to  itself. 

He  asked  himself  what  it  would  look  like  in 
292 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

seventeen  years'  time  when  it  would  be  his.  In 
seventeen  years'  time  he  would  be  forty-two.  What 
good  would  he  be  then?  And  what  good  would 
Granville  be  to  him?  What  good  was  it  now?  In 
its  malignancy  it  demanded  large  sums  to  keep  it 
going  and  if  it  didn't  get  them  it  knew  how  to 
avenge  itself.  Slowly  perishing,  it  would  fall  to 
dust  in  seventeen  years'  time  when  it  came  into  his 
hands. 


But  he  had  not  dreamed  of  the  extent  to  which 
Granville  could  put  on  the  screw. 

He  was  enlightened  by  the  agent  of  the  Estate 
Company  to  which  Granville  owed  its  being.  The 
agent,  after  a  thorough  inspection  of  the  premises, 
broke  it  to  Ransome  that  if  he  did  not  wish  to  lose 
Granville,  he  would  have  to  undertake  certain  neces- 
sary repairs,  the  estimate  for  which  soared  to  the 
gay  tune  of  ten  pounds  eight  shillings  and  eight- 
pence.  It  was  the  state  of  the  roof,  of  the  south- 
west wall,  and  of  the  scullery  drain  that  most  shocked 
the  agent.  Of  the  scullery  drain  he  could  hardly 
bring  himself  to  speak,  remarking  only  that  a  little 
washing  down  from  time  to  time  with  soda  would 
have  saved  it  all.  The  state  of  that  drain  was  a  fair 
disgrace;  and  it  was  not  a  thing  of  days;  it  dated 
from  months  back — years,  he  shouldn't  be  surprised. 
It  was  fit  to  breed  a  fever. 

Of  course,  it  wasn't  quite  as  bad  as  the  agent 
had  made  out.  But  Ranny,  knowing  Violet,  believed 
him.  It  gave  him  a  feeling  of  immense  responsi- 
bility toward  Granville,  and  the  Estate  Company, 
and  the  agent. 

293 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Finally,  owing  to  Violet's  reckless  management, 
his  debts  to  the  grocer,  the  butcher,  and  the  milk- 
man had  reached  the  considerable  total  of  nine 
pounds  eighteen  shillings  and  eleven  pence.  It 
would  take  about  forty  pounds  odd  to  clear  his 
obligations. 

The  question  was  how  on  earth  was  he  to  raise 
the  money?  Out  of  a  salary  of  twelve  pounds  a 
month  ? 

He  would  have  to  borrow  it.  But  from  whom? 
Not  from  his  father.  To  whatever  height  his 
mother  kept  it  up,  she  could  not  conceal  from  him 
that  his  father  was  in  difficulties.  Wandsworth  was 
going  ahead,  caught  by  the  tide  of  progress.  The 
new  Drug  Stores  over  the  way  were  drawing  all  the 
business  from  Fulleymore  Ransome's  little  shop. 
Even  with  the  assistance  of  the  young  man,  Mr. 
Ponting,  Fulleymore  Ransome  was  not  in  a  state  to 
hold  his  own.  But  John  Randall,  the  draper,  if  you 
like,  was  prosperous.  He  might  be  willing,  Ran- 
some thought,  to  lend  him  the  money,  or  a  part  of 
it,  at  a  fair  rate  of  interest. 

And  John  Randall  indeed  lent  him  thirty  pounds; 
but  not  willingly.  His  reluctance,  however,  was 
sufficiently  explained  by  the  fact  that  he  had  recent- 
ly advanced  more  than  that  sum  to  Fulleymore. 
He  was  careful  to  point  out  to  Randall  that  he  was 
helping  him  to  meet  only  those  catastrophes  which 
might  be  regarded  as  the  act  of  God — Violet's  bills 
and  the  deterioration  of  Granville.  He  was  as 
anxious  as  Randall  himself  to  prevent  Violet's  ap- 
pearance in  the  County  Court,  and  he  certainly 
thought  it  was  a  pity  that  good  house  property 
should  go  out  of  his  nephew's  hands.     But  he  re- 

294 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE  '' 

fused  flatly  to  advance  the  ten  pounds  for  the  weekly- 
arrears,  in  order  to  teach  Randall  a  lesson,  to  make 
him  feel  that  he  had  some  responsibility,  and  to 
show  that  there  was  a  limit  to  what  he,  John  Randall, 
was  prepared  to  do. 

w  For  days  Ransome  went  distracted.  The  ten 
pounds  still  owing  was  like  a  millstone  round  his 
neck.  If  he  didn't  look  sharp  and  pay  up  he  would 
be  County-Coiu-ted  too.  He  couldn't  come  down 
on  his  father-in-law.  His  father-in-law  would  tell 
him  that  he  had  already  received  the  equivalent  of 
ten  pounds  in  hampers.  There  was  nobody  he 
could  come  down  on.  So  he  called  at  a  place  he  had 
heard  of  in  Shaftesbury  Avenue,  where  there  was 
a  "josser"  who  arranged  it  for  him  qtiite  simply  by 
means  of  a  bill  of  sale  upon  his  furniture.  After  all, 
he  did  get  some  good  out  of  that  furniture. 

And  he  got  some  good,  too,  out  of  Granville 
when  he  let  it  to  Fred  Booty  for  fifteen  shillings  a 
week. 

He  was  now  established  definitely  in  his  father's 
house.  The  young  man  Mr.  Pouting  had  shown 
how  kind  his  heart  was  by  turning  out  of  his  nice 
room  on  the  second  floor  into  Ranny's  old  attic. 
The  little  back  room,  used  for  storage,  served  also 
as  a  day  nursery  for  Ranny's  children.  Six  days  in 
the  week  a  little  girl  came  in  to  mind  them.  At 
night  Ranny  minded  them  where  they  lay  in  their 
cots  by  his  bed. 

It  was  all  that  could  be  done;  and  with  the  little 
girl's  board  and  the  children's  and  his  own  break- 
fast and  supper  and  his  Sunday  dinner,  it  cost  him 
thirty  shillings  a  week.  There  was  no  way  in  which 
it  could  be  done  for  less,  since  it  was  not  in  him  to 

295 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

take  advantage  of  his  mother's  offer  to  let  him  have 
the  rooms  rent  free. 


And  underneath  Ranny's  rooms,  between  the  bed- 
room at  the  back  and  the  back  parlor,  between  the 
parlor  and  the  shop,  between  the  shop  and  the  dis- 
pensing-room, Ftilleymore  Ransome  dragged  him- 
self to  and  fro,  more  than  ever  weedy,  more  than 
ever  morose,  more  than  ever  sublime  in  his  appear- 
ance of  integrity;  and  with  it  all  so  irritable  that 
Ranny's  children  had  to  be  kept  out  of  his  way. 
He  would  snarl  when  he  heard  them  overhead;  he 
would  scowl  horribly  when  he  came  across  the 
"pram,"  pushed  by  the  little  girl,  in  its  necessary 
progress  through  the  shop  into  the  street  and  back 
again. 

But  at  Ranny  he  neither  snarled  nor  scowled,  nor 
had  he  spoken  any  word  to  him  on  the  subject  of 
the  great  calamity.  No  reproach,  no  reminder  of 
warnings  given,  none  of  that  reiterated,  "I  told  you 
so,"  in  which,  Ranny  reflected,  he  might  have  taken 
it  out  of  him.  He  also  seemed  to  regard  his  son 
Randall  as  one  smitten  by  God  and  afflicted,  to 
whose  high  and  sacred  suffering  silence  was  the 
appropriate  tribute.  His  very  moroseness  provided 
the  sanctuary  of  silence. 

And  all  the  time  he  drank;  he  drank  worse  than 
ever;  furtively,  continuously  he  drank.  Nobody 
could  stop  him,  for  nobody  ever  saw  him  doing  it. 
He  did  it,  they  could  only  suppose,  behind  Mr. 
Ponting's  back  in  the  dispensing-room. 

They  were  free  to  suppose  anything  now;  for, 
since  Ranny's  great  delivering  outburst,  they  could 

296 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

discuss  it;  and  in  discussion  they  found  relief. 
Ranny's  mother  owned  as  much.  She  had  suffered 
(that  also  she  owned)  from  the  strain  of  keeping  it 
up.  Ranny's  outburst  had  saved  her,  vicariously. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  burst  out  herself. 

There  were,  of  course,  lengths  to  which  she  would 
never  go,  admissions  which  she  could  not  bring  her- 
self to  make.  There  had  to  be  some  subterfuge, 
some  poor  last  shelter  for  her  pride.  And  so,  of  the 
depression  in  FuUeymore's  business  she  would  say 
before  Mr.  Ponting,  "It's  those  Drug  Stores  that 
are  ruining  him,"  and  Mr.  Ponting  would  reply, 
gravely,  "They'd  ruin  anybody." 

Mr.  Ponting  was  a  fresh-colored  young  man  and 
good-looking,  with  his  blue  eyes  and  his  yellow  hair 
sleeked  backward  like  folded  wings,  so  different  from 
Mercier.  Mr.  Ponting  had  conceived  an  affection 
for  Ranny  and  the  children.  He  would  find  excuses 
to  go  up  to  the  storeroom,  where  he  would  pretend 
to  be  looking  for  things  while  he  was  really  playing 
with  Dossie.  He  would  sit  on  Ranny's  bed  while 
Ranny  was  undressing,  and  together  they  would 
consider,  piously,  the  grave  case  of  the  Humming- 
bird, and  how,  between  them,  they  could  best  "keep 
him  off  it." 

"It's  the  dispensary  spirits  that  he  gets  at,"  Mr. 
Ponting  said.     "That's  the  trouble." 

(And  it  always  had  been.) 

"The  queer  thing  is,"  said  Ranny,  "that  you  never 
fairly  see  him  tight.     Not  to  speak  of." 

"That's  the  worst  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Ponting.  "I 
wish  I  could  see  your  father  tight — -tumbling  about 
a  bit,  I  mean,  and  being  funny.  The  beastly  stuff's 
going  for  him  inside,  all  the  time — undermining  him. 

297 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

There  isn't  an  organ,"  said  Mr.  Ponting,  solemnly, 
"in  your  father's  body  that  it  hasn't  gone  for." 

"How  d'you  know?" 

"Why,  by  the  medicines  he  takes.  He's  giving 
himself  strophanthus  now,  for  his  heart." 

"I  say — d'you  think  my  mother  knows  that?" 

"It's  impossible  to  say  what  your  mother  knows. 
More  than  she  lets  on,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised." 

Mr.  Ponting  pondered. 

"It's  wonderful  how  he  keeps  it  up.  His  dignity, 
I  mean." 

"It's  rum,  isn't  it?"  said  Ranny.  He  was  appar- 
ently absorbed  in  tying  the  strings  of  his  sleeping-suit 
into  loops  of  absolutely  even  length.  "But  he  al- 
ways was  that  mysterious  kind  of  bird." 

He  began  to  step  slowly  backward  as  he  buttoned 
up  his  jacket.  Then,  by  way  of  throwing  off  the 
care  that  oppressed  him,  and  lightening  somewhat 
Mr.  Ponting's  burden,  he  ran  forward  and  took 
a  flying  leap  over  the  Baby's  cot  into  his  own 
bed. 

Mr.  Ponting  looked,  if  anything,  a  little  graver. 
"I  wouldn't  do  that,  if  I  were  you,"  he  said. 

"Why  not?"  said  Ranny  over  his  blankets, 
snuggling  comfortably. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Ponting,  vaguely. 

In  a  day  or  two  Ranny  himself  knew. 

His  arrangements  had  carried  him  well  on  into 
October.  In  the  last  week  of  that  month,  on  a 
Tuesday  evening,  he  appeared  at  the  Regent  Street 
Polytechnic,  where  he  had  not  been  seen  since  far 
back  in  the  last  year.  It  was  not  at  the  Gymnasium 
that  he  now  presented  himself,  but  at  the  door  of 
that  room  where  every  Tuesday  evening,  from  seven- 

298 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

thirty  to  eight-thirty,  a  quahfied  practitioner  was  in 
attendance. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Ransome  had  availed 
himself  of  this  privilege  conferred  on  him  by  the 
Poly. 

He  said  he  wouldn't  keep  the  medical  man  a 
minute. 

But  the  medical  man  kept  Ranny  many  minutes, 
thumping,  sounding,  intimately  and  extensively  over- 
hauling him.  For  more  minutes  than  Ranny  at  all 
liked,  he  played  about  him  with  a  stethoscope. 
Then  he  fired  off  what  Ranny  supposed  to  be  the 
usual  questions. 

"Had  any  shock,  worry,  or  excitement  lately? 

"Been  overdoing  it  in  any  way? 

"Gone  in  much  for  athletics?" 

Ranny  replied  with  regret  that  it  was  more  than 
three  years  since  he  had  last  run  in  the  Wandsworth 
Hurdle  Race. 

He  was  then  told  that  he  must  avoid  all  shock, 
worry,  or  excitement.  He  mustn't  overdo  it.  He 
must  drop  his  hurdle-racing.  He  mustn't  bicycle 
uphill,  or  against  the  wind;  he  mustn't  jump;  he 
mustn't  run — 

"Not  even  to  catch  a  train?" 

"Not  to  catch  anything." 

And  the  doctor  gave  him  a  prescription  that  ran: 

Sodae  Bicarb.,  one  dram. 

Tinct.  Strophanthi,  two  drams — 

He  remembered.  That  was  the  stuff  he'd  meas- 
ured for  old  Mr.  Beasley's  heart  mixture.  It  was 
the  stuff  that  Ponting  said  his  father  was  taking 
now. 

20  299 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

If  any  one  had  told  him  three  years  ago  that  his 
heart  was  rocky  he'd  have  told  them  where  to  go 
to.  It  had  been  as  sound  as  a  bell  when  he  entered 
for  the  Poly.  Gym. 

Well,  he  supposed  that  was  about  the  finishing 
touch — if  they  wanted  to  do  the  thing  in  style. 

He  went  slowly  over  Wandsworth  Bridge  and  up 
the  High  Street,  dejected,  under  the  autumn  moon 
that  had  once  watched  his  glad  sprinting. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

AND  in  all  this  time  he  had  not  heard  again  from 
il  Violet,  nor  had  he  written  to  her. 

Then — it  was  in  the  first  week  of  November — 
Violet  wrote. 

She  wrote  imploring  him  to  set  her  free.  It  was 
rooted  in  her,  the  fear  that  he  would  compel  her  to 
come  back,  that  he  had  the  power  to  make  her.  She 
wanted  (he  seemed  to  see  it)  to  feel  safe  from  him 
forever.  Leonard  had  promised  to  marry  her  if 
she  were  free.  She  intimated  that  Leonard  was 
everything  that  was  generous  and  honorable.  She 
wanted  (she  who  had  abused  him  so  for  having  mar- 
ried her),  she  wanted  to  marry  Mercier,  to  have  a 
hold  on  him  and  be  safe.  Marriage  was  her  idea  of 
safety  now. 

She  went  on  to  say  that  if  he  would  consent  to 
divorce  her,  it  would  be  made  easy  for  him,  she 
would  not  defend  the  suit. 

That  meant — he  puzzled  it  out — that  meant  that 
it  would  lie  between  the  two  of  them.  Nobody  else 
would  be  dragged  into  it.  Winny's  name  would  not 
by  any  possibiUty  be  dragged  in.  Violet  would  have 
no  use  for  Winny,  since  she  was  not  going  to  defend 
the  suit.  She  might — at  the  worst — have  to  appear 
as  witness,  if  the  evidence  of  Violet's  letters  (her 
own  admission)  was  not  sufficient.  It  looked  as  if 
it  would  be  simple  enough.     Why  should  he  not  re- 

301 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

lease  her?  He  had  no  business  not  to  give  her  the 
chance  to  marry  Mercier,  to  regulate  the  relation, 
if  that  was  what  she  wanted. 

It  was  his  own  chance,  too,  his  one  chance.  He 
would  be  a  fool  not  to  take  it. 

And  as  it  came  over  him  in  its  fullness,  all  that  it 
meant  and  would  yet  mean,  Ranny  felt  his  heart 
thumping  and  bounding,  dangerously,  in  its  weak- 
ened state. 

On  a  Wednesday  evening  in  November,  he  pre- 
sented himself  once  more  at  the  Regent  Street 
Polytechnic  and  at  the  door  of  an  oflfice  where,  on 
Wednesday  evenings,  an  experienced  legal  adviser 
held  himself  in  readiness  to  give  advice,  that  legal 
adviser  who  had  been  the  jest  of  his  adolescence, 
whose  services  he  had  not  conceived  it  possible  that 
he  should  require. 

He  had  a  curiously  uplifting  sense  of  the  gravity 
and  impressiveness  of  the  business  upon  which  at 
last,  inconceivably,  he  came.  But  this  odd  elation 
was  controlled  and  finally  overpowered  by  disgust 
and  shame,  as  one  by  one,  under  the  kind  but  acute 
examination  of  the  legal  man,  he  brought  out  for  his 
inspection  the  atrocious  details.  And  he  had  to 
show  Violet's  letter  of  September,  the  document, 
supremely  valuable,  supremely  infamous,  supported 
by  the  further  communication  of  November.  The 
keen  man  asked  him,  as  his  uncle  and  his  father-in- 
law  had  asked,  if  he  had  given  any  provocation,  any 
cause  for  jealousy,  misunderstanding,  or  the  like? 
Had  his  own  conduct  been  irreproachable?  When 
all  this  part  of  it  was  over,  settled  to  the  keen  man's 
satisfaction,  Ranny  was  told  that  there  was  little 
doubt  that  he  could  get  his  divorce  if — that  was  the 

302 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

question — he  could  afford  to  pay.  Divorce  was, 
yes,  it  was  a  costly  matter,  almost,  you  might  say, 
the  luxury  of  the  rich.  A  matter,  for  him,  probably 
of  forty  or  fifty  pounds — well,  say,  thirty,  when 
you'd  cut  expenses  down  to  the  very  lowest  limit. 
Could  he,  the  keen  but  kindly  man  inquired,  afford 
thirty? 

No,  he  couldn't.  He  couldn't  afford  twenty  even. 
With  all  his  existing  debts  upon  him  he  couldn't 
now  raise  ten. 

He  asked  whether  he  could  get  his  divorce  if  he 
put  it  off  a  bit  until  he  could  afford  it? 

The  legal  man  looked  grave. 

"Well — yes.     If  you  can  show  poverty — " 

Ranny  thought  he  could  undertake  to  show  that 
all  right. 

i-  At  the  legal  man's  suggestion  he  wrote  a  letter 
to  his  wife  assuring  her  that  it  was  impossible  for 
her  to  desire  a  divorce  more  than  he  did;  that  he 
meant  to  bring  an  action  at  the  very  moment  when 
he  could  afford  it,  pointing  out  to  her  that  her  debts 
which  he  had  paid  had  not  made  this  any  easier  for 
him ;  that  in  the  meanwhile  she  need  not  be  anxious ; 
that  he  would  not  follow  her  or  molest  her  in  any 
way;  and  that  in  no  circumstances  would  he  take 
her  back. 

And  now  Ranny 's  soul  and  all  his  energy  were 
set  upon  the  one  aim  of  raising  money  for  his  divorce. 
It  was  impossible  to  lay  his  hands  upon  that  money 
all  at  once.  He  could  not  do  it  this  year,  nor  yet 
the  next,  for  his  expenses  and  his  debts  together  ex- 
ceeded the  amount  of  his  income ;  but  gradually,  by 
pinching  and  scraping,  it  might  be  done  perhaps  in 
two  or  three  years'  time. 

303 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

His  chief  trouble  was  that  in  all  these  weeks  he 
had  seen  nothing  of  Winny.  He  had  called  twice 
at  the  side  door  of  Johnson's,  but  they  had  told  him 
that  she  was  not  in;  and,  hampered  as  he  was  with 
the  children,  he  had  not  had  time  to  call  again. 
Besides,  he  knew  he  had  to  be  careful,  and  Winny 
knew  it  too.  That,  of  course,  would  always  help 
him,  her  perception  of  the  necessity  for  care.  There 
were  ways  of  managing  these  things,  but  they  re- 
quired his  mother's  or  his  friends'  co-operation; 
and  so  far  Mrs.  Ransome  had  shown  no  disposition 
to  co-operate.  Winny  was  not  likely  to  present  her- 
self at  Wandsworth  without  encouragement,  and  she 
had  apparently  declined  to  lend  herself  to  any  scheme 
of  Maudie's  or  of  Fred  Booty's.  With  Winny  lying 
low  there  was  nothing  left  for  him  but  the  way  he 
shrank  from,  of  persistent  and  unsolicited  pursuit. 

November  passed  and  they  were  in  December, 
and  he  had  not  seen  her.  After  having  recovered 
somewhat  under  the  influence  of  the  drug  stro- 
phanthus,  he  now  became  depressed,  listless,  easily 
fatigued. 

Up  till  now  there  had  been  something  not  alto- 
gether disagreeable  to  Mrs.  Ransome  in  the  mis- 
fortunes of  her  son.  They  had  brought  him  back  to 
her.  But  he  had  not  wanted  to  come  back;  and 
now  she  wondered  whether  she  had  done  well  to 
make  him  come,  whether  (after  all  he  had  gone 
through)  it  was  not  too  much  for  him,  realizing  as  he 
did  his  father's  awful  state.  It  had  gone  so  far, 
Mr.  Ransome's  state,  that  there  was  no  way  in 
which  it  could  be  taken  lightly. 

And  she  was  depressed  herself,  perceiving  it.  Mr. 
Ransome's  state  made  him  unfit  for  business  now, 

304 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

unfit  to  appear  in  the  shop,  above  all  unfit  for  the 
dispensary.  Fit  only  to  crawl  from  room  to  room 
and  trouble  them  with  the  sad  state  of  his  peaked 
and  peevish  face.  He  required  watching.  He  him- 
self recognized  that  in  his  handling  of  tricky  drugs 
there  was  a  danger.  The  business  was  getting  out 
of  hand.  It  was  small  and  growing  smaller  every 
month,  yet  it  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Ponting  to  cope 
with  unassisted.  They  were  living,  all  three  of 
them,  in  a  state  of  tension  most  fretting  to  the 
nerves. 

The  whole  house  fairly  vibrated  with  it.  It  was 
as  if  the  fearful  instability  of  Mr.  Ransome's  nervous 
system  communicated  itself  to  everybody  around 
him.  At  the  cry  or  the  sudden  patter  of  Ranny's 
children  overhead,  Mr.  Ransome  would  be  set  quiver- 
ing and  shaking,  and  this  disturbance  of  his  re- 
verberated. Ranny  set  his  teeth  and  sat  tight  and 
"stuck  it";  but  he  felt  the  shattering  effect  of  it 
all  the  same. 

And  the  children  felt  it  too,  subtly,  insidiously. 
Dossie  became  peevish,  easily  frightened;  she  was 
neither  so  good  nor  so  happy  with  her  Granny  and 
the  little  girl  as  she  had  been  with  Winny.  Baby 
cried  oftener.  Ranny  sometimes  would  be  up  half 
the  night  with  him. 

All  this  Mrs.  Ransome  saw  and  grieved  over  and 
was  powerless  to  help. 

In  Christmas  week  the  state  of  Mr.  Ransome  be- 
came terrible,  not  to  be  borne.  Ranny  was  working 
hard  at  the  counting-house;  he  was  worn  out,  and 
he  looked  it. 

The  sight  of  him,  so  changed,  broke  Mrs.  Ran- 
some down. 

305 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Ranny,"  she  said,  "I  wish  you'd  get  away  some- 
where for  Christmas.  Me  and  Mabel  '11  look  after 
the  children.     You  go." 

He  said  there  wasn't  anywhere  he  cared  to  go  to. 

"Well — ^is  there  anything  you'd  like  to  do?" 

"To  do?" 

"For  Christmas,  dear.  To  make  it  not  so  sad 
Hke.  Is  there  anybody,"  she  said,  "you'd  like  to 
ask?" 

No,  there  wasn't.  At  any  rate,  if  there  was  he 
wouldn't  ask  them.  It  wouldn't  be  exactly  what 
you'd  call  fun  for  them,  with  the  poor  old  Humming- 
bird making  faces  at  them  all  the  time. 

His  mother  looked  at  him  shrewdly  and  said 
nothing.  But  she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
Winny  Dymond,  asking  her  to  come  and  spend 
Christmas  Day  with  them,  if,  said  Mrs.  Ransome, 
she  hadn't  anywhere  better  to  go  to  and  didn't 
mind  a  sad  house. 

And  Winny  came.  She  hadn't  an3rwhere  better 
to  go  to,  and  she  didn't  mind  a  sad  house  in  the 
deast. 

They  wondered,  Ranny  and  his  mother,  how  they 
were  ever  going  to  break  it  to  the  Humming-bird. 

"Your  Father  won't  like  it,  Ranny.  He's  not  fit 
for  it.  He'll  think  us  heartless,  having  strangers 
in  the  house  when  He's  suffering  so." 

But  Mr.  Ransome,  when  asked  if  he  was  fit  for 
it,  replied  astoundingly  that  he  was  fit  enough  if  it 
would  make  Randall  any  happier. 

It  did.  It  made  him  so  happy  that  his  recovery 
dated  from  that  moment.  He  had  only  one  fear, 
that  Dossie  would  have  forgotten  Winky. 

But  Dossie  hadn't,  though  after  two  months  of 

306 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Wandsworth  she  had  forgotten  many  things,  and 
had  cultivated  reserve.  When  Ranny  said,  "Who's 
this,  Dossie?"  she  tucked  her  head  into  her  shoulder 
and  smiled  shyly  and  said,  "Winty."  But  they  had 
to  pretend  that  Baby  remembered,  too.  He  hadn't 
really  got  what  you  would  call  a  memory. 

And,  after  all,  it  was  Ranny  (Winny  said  to  her- 
self) who  remembered  most.  For  he  gave  her  for 
a  Christmas  present,  not  only  a  beautiful  white  satin 
"sashy,"  scented  with  lavender  (lavender,  not  vio- 
lets, this  time),  but  a  wonderful  hot-water  bag  with 
a  shaggy  red  coat  that  made  you  warm  to  look 
at  it. 

"Ranny!  Fancy  you  remembering  that  I  had 
cold  feet!" 

That  night  he  went  home  with  her  to  Johnson's 
side  door,  carrying  the  sachet  and  the  hot-water  bag 
and  the  things  his  mother  had  given  her. 

Upstairs,  in  the  attic  she  shared  with  three  other 
young  ladies,  the  first  thing  Winny  did  was  to  turn 
to  the  Cookery  Book  she  had  bought  a  year  ago  and 
read  the  directions:  "How  to  Preserve  Hot- Water 
Bags" — to  preserve  them  forever. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THUS  nineteen-seven,  that  dreadful  year,  rolled 
over  into  nineteen-eight.  By  nineteen-ten,  at 
the  very  latest,  Ransome  looked  to  get  his  divorce. 
He  had  no  doubt  that  he  could  do  it,  for  he  found  it 
far  less  expensive  to  live  with  his  mother  at  Wands- 
worth than  with  Violet  at  Granville.  He  knew 
exactly  where  he  was,  he  had  not  to  allow  so  con- 
siderably for  the  unforeseen.  His  income  had  a 
margin  out  of  which  he  saved.  To  make  this  margin 
wider  he  pinched,  he  scraped,  he  went  as  shabby  as 
he  dared,  he  left  off  smoking,  he  renounced  his  after- 
noon cup  of  tea  and  reduced  the  necessary  dinner  at 
his  ABC  shop  to  its  very  simplest  terms. 

The  two  years  passed. 

By  January,  nineteen-ten,  he  had  only  paid  off 
what  he  already  owed.  He  had  not  raised  the  thirty 
pounds  required  for  his  divorce.  Indomitable,  but 
somewhat  desperate,  he  applied  to  his  Uncle  Randall 
for  a  second  loan  at  the  same  interest.  He  did  not 
conceal  from  him  that  divorce  was  his  object.  He 
put  it  to  him  that  his  mind  was  made  up  unalterably, 
and  that  since  the  thing  had  got  to  be,  sooner  or 
later,  it  was  better  for  everybody's  sake  that  it  should 
be  sooner. 

But  Mr.  Randall  was  inexorable.  He  refused, 
flatly,  to  lend  his  money  for  a  purpose  that  he  per- 
sisted in  regarding  as  iniquitous.     Even  if  he  had 

308 


THE    COMBINED   MAZE 

not  advanced  a  further  sum  to  young  Randall's 
father,  he  was  not  going  to  help  young  Randall 
through  the  Divorce  Court,  stirring  all  that  mud 
again.     Not  he. 

"You  should  wash  your  dirty  linen  at  home,"  he 
said. 

"You  mean  keep  it  there  and  never  wash  it. 
That's  what  it  comes  to,"  said  young  Randall, 
furiously. 

"It's  been  kept.  And  everybody's  forgotten  that 
it's  there  by  this  time.  Why  rake  it  up  again?"  said 
his  Uncle  Randall. 

And  there  was  no  making  him  see  why.  There 
was  no  making  any  of  them  see.  Mrs.  Ransome 
wouldn't  hear  of  the  divorce.  "It  '11  kill  your 
Father,  Ranny,"  she  said,  and  stuck  to  it. 

And  Ranny  set  his  mouth  hard  and  said  nothing. 
He  calculated  that  if  he  put  by  twelve  shiUings  a  week 
for  twenty-five  weeks  that  would  be  fifteen  pounds. 
He  coiild  borrow  the  other  fifteen  in  Shaftesbury 
Avenue  as  he  had  done  before,  and  in  six  months 
he  would  be  filing  his  petition. 

As  soon  as  he  was  ready  to  file  it  he  would  tell 
Winny  he  cared  for  her.  He  would  ask  her  to  be 
his  wife. 

He  had  not  told  any  of  them  about  Winny.  But 
they  knew.  They  knew  and  yet  they  had  no  pity 
on  him,  nor  yet  on  her.  When  he  thought  of  it 
Ranny  set  his  face  harder. 


Yet  Winny  came  and  went,  untroubled  and  ap- 
parently unconscious.  She  was  not  only  allowed  to 
come  and  go  at  Wandsworth  as  she  had  come  and 

309 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

gone  at  Granville,  by  right  of  her  enduring  com- 
petence; she  was  desired  and  implored  to  come. 
For  if  she  had  (and  Mrs.  Ransome  owned  it)  a  "  way  " 
with  the  children,  she  had  also  a  way  with  Mrs. 
Ransome,  and  with  Mr.  Ransome.  The  Humming- 
bird, growing  weedier  and  weaker,  revived  in  her 
presence;  he  relaxed  a  little  of  his  moroseness  and 
austerity.  "I  don't  Imow  how  it  is,"  said  Ranny's 
mother,  "but  your  Father  takes  to  her.  He  likes 
to  see  her  about." 

Saturday  afternoons,  and  Sundays,  and  late  even- 
ings in  summer  were  her  times,  so  that  of  necessity 
she  and  Ranny  met. 

Not  that  they  pleaded  necessity  for  meeting. 
Since  his  awful  enlightenment  and  maturity,  Ran- 
some had  never  thought  of  pleading  anything;  for 
he  did  not  hold  himself  accountable  to  anybody  or 
require  anybody  to  tell  him  what  was  decent  and 
what  wasn't.  And  Winny  was  like  him.  He 
couldn't  imagine  Winny  driven  to  plead.  She  had 
gone  her  own  way  without  troubling  her  head  about 
what  people  thought  of  her,  without  thinking  very 
much  about  herself.  As  long  as  she  was  sure  he 
wanted  her,  she  would  be  there,  where  he  was.  He 
felt  rather  than  knew  that  she  waited  for  him,  and 
would  wait  for  him  through  interminable  years,  un- 
troubled as  to  her  peace,  profoundly  pure.  He  was 
not  even  certain  that  she  was  aware  that  she  was 
waiting  and  that  he  waited  too. 


In  the  spring  of  nineteen-ten  it  looked  as  if  they 
would  not  have  very  long  to  wait.  He  had  meas- 
ured his  resources  with  such  accuracy  that  by  June, 

310 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

if  all  went  well,  he  could  set  about  filing  his  pe- 
tition. 

And  now,  seeing  the  thing  so  near  and  yet  not 
accomplished,  Ranny's  nerve  went.  He  began  to 
be  afraid,  childishly  and  ridiculously  afraid,  of  some- 
thing happening  to  prevent  it.  He  had  a  clear  and 
precise  idea  of  that  something.  He  would  die  before 
he  could  file  his  petition,  before  he  could  get  his 
divorce  and  marry  Winny.  His  heart  to  be  sure 
was  better;  but  at  any  moment  it  might  get  worse. 
It  might  get  like  his  father's.  It  might  stop  alto- 
gether. He  thought  of  it  as  he  had  never  thought 
of  it  before.  He  humored  it.  He  never  ran.  He 
never  jumped.  He  never  rode  uphill  on  his  bicycle. 
He  thought  twice  before  hurrying  for  anything. 

Against  these  things  he  could  protect  himself. 

But  who  could  protect  him  against  excitement  and 
worry  and  anxiety  ?  Why,  this  fear  that  he  had  was 
itself  the  worst  thing  for  him  imaginable.  And 
then  worry.  He  had  to  worry.  You  couldn't  look 
on  and  see  the  poor  old  Humming-bird  going  from 
bad  to  worse,  you  couldn't  see  everybody  else  worry- 
ing about  him,  and  not  worry  too.  He  would  go 
away  and  forget  about  it  for  a  time,  and  when  he 
came  back  again  the  terrible  and  intolerable  thing 
was  there. 

And  at  the  heart  of  the  trouble  there  was  a  stiU 
more  terrible  and  intolerable  peace.  It  was  as  if 
Mr.  Ransome  had  made  strange  terms  with  the 
youth  and  joy  and  innocent  life  that  had  once  roused 
him  to  such  profound  resentment  and  disgust.  His 
vindictive  ubiquity  had  ceased.  When  the  spring 
came  he  could  no  longer  drag  himself  up  and  down 
stairs.     His  feet  and  legs  were  swollen;    they  were 

311 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

like  enormous  weights  attached  to  his  pitifully  weedy 
body.  His  skin  had  the  sallow  smoothness,  the 
waxen  substance  that  marked  the  deadly,  unmis- 
takable progress  of  his  disease.  He  could  not  always 
He  down  in  his  bed.  Sometimes  he  lived,  day  and 
night,  motionless  in  his  invalid's  chair,  with  his  legs 
propped  before  him  on  a  footrest.  He  would  sit 
for  hours  staring  at  them  in  lamentable  contempla- 
tion. He  could  measure  his  span  of  life  from  day 
to  day  as  the  swelling  rose  or  sank.  On  his  good 
days  they  wheeled  him  from  his  bedroom  at  the  back 
to  the  front  sitting-room. 

And  through  it  all,  as  by  some  miracle,  he  pre- 
served his  air  of  suffering  integrity. 

It  was  quite  plain  to  Ranny  that  his  father  could 
not  live  long.  And  if  he  died  ?  Even  in  his  pity  and 
his  grief  Ranny  could  not  help  wondering  whether, 
if  his  father  died  any  time  that  year,  it  would  not 
make  a  difference,  whether  it  would  not,  perhaps,  at 
the  last  moment  prevent  his  marrying? 

Partly  in  defiance  of  this  fear,  partly  by  way  of 
committing  himself  irretrievably,  he  resolved  to 
speak  to  Winny.  He  desired  to  be  irretrievably 
committed,  so  that,  whatever  happened,  decency 
alone  would  prevent  him  from  drawing  back. 
Though  he  could  not  in  as  many  words  ask  Winny 
to  marry  him  before  he  was  actually  free,  there  were 
things  that  could  be  said,  and  he  saw  no  earthly 
reason  why  he  should  not  say  them. 

For  this  purpose  he  chose,  in  sheer  decency,  one 
of  his  father's  good  days  which  happened  to  be  a 
fine,  warm  one  in  May  and  a  Saturday.  He  had 
arranged  with  Winny  beforehand  that  she  should 
come  over  as  early  as  possible  in  the  afternoon  and 

312 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

stay  for  tea.  He  now  suggested  that,  as  this  Satur- 
day was  such  a  Saturday  as  they  might  never  see 
again,  it  would  be  a  good  plan  if  they  were  to  go 
somewhere  together. 

"Where?"  said  Winny. 

Wherever  she  liked,  he  said,  provided  it  was  some- 
where where  they'd  never  been  before.  And  Winny, 
trying  to  think  of  something  not  too  expensive,  said, 
"How  about  the  tram  to  Putney  Heath?" 

"Putney  Heath,"  Ranny  said,  "be  bio  wed!" 

"Well,  then — how  about  Hampton  Court  or 
Kew?" 

But  he  was  "on  to"  her.  "Rot!"  he  said. 
** You've  been  there." 

"Well — "  Obviously  she  was  meditating  some- 
thing equally  absurd. 

"What  d'you  say  to  Windsor?" 

But  Winny  absolutely  refused  to  go  to  Windsor. 
She  said  there  was  one  place  she'd  never  been  to, 
and  that  was  Golder's  Hill.  You  could  get  tea 
there. 

"Right— O!"  said  Ranny.  "We'll  go  to  Golder's 
Hill." 

"And  take  the  children,"  Winny  said. 

Well,  no,  he  rather  thought  he'd  leave  the  kids 
behind  for  once. 

"Oh,  Ranny!"  Voice  and  eyes  reproached  him. 
"You  couldn't!  You  may  never  get  a  day  like  this 
again." 

"I  know.     That's  why,"  said  Ranny. 

The  kids,  Stanley,  aged  three,  and  Dossie,  aged 
five,  understanding  perfectly  well  that  they  were 
being  thrown  over,  began  to  cry. 

"Daddy,  take  me — take  me,''  sobbed  Dossie. 

313 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"And  me!"     Stanley  positively  screamed  it. 

"I  say,  you  laiow,  if  they're  going  to  howl,"  said 
Ranny. 

"You  must—'' 

"That's  it,  I  mustn't.  They  can't  have  every- 
thing they  choose  to  howl  for." 

"There,"  said  Winny.  "See!  Daddy  can't  take 
you  if  you  cry.     He  can't,  really." 

(She  had  gone — perfidious  Winny ! — to  the  drawer 
where  she  knew  Stanley's  clean  suit  was.  Stanley 
knew  it  too.) 

The  children  stopped  crying  as  by  magic.  With 
eyes  where  pathos  and  resentment  mingled  they 
gazed  at  their  incredible  father.  Tears,  large  crys- 
tal tears,  hung  on  the  fiame-red  crests  of  their  hot 
cheeks. 

Winny  turned  before  she  actually  opened  the 
drawer. 

"Who  wants,"  said  she,  "to  go  with  Daddy?" 

"Me,"  said  Dossie. 

"Me,"  said  Stanley. 

"Well,  then,  give  Daddy  a  kiss  and  ask  him  nicely. 
Then  perhaps  he'll  take  you." 

And  they  did,  and  he  had  to  take  them.  But  it 
was  mean,  it  was  treacherous  of  Winny. 

"What  did  you  do  that  for,  Winky?"  he  said, 
going  over  to  her  where  she  rummaged  in  the  drawer. 

"Because,"  she  said,  "you  promised." 

"Promised  what?" 

"Promised  you'd  take  them.  Promised  Stanny 
he  should  wear  his  knickers.  They  told  me  you'd 
promised." 

And  he  had. 

"I  forgot,"  he  said. 

314 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"They'd  never  have  forgotten." 

She  was  holding  them,  the  ridiculous  knickers,  to 
the  nursery  fire. 

It  took  ten  minutes  to  get  Stanley  into  them,  into 
the  little  blue  linen  knickers  he  had  never  worn 
before,  and  into  his  tight  little  white  jersey;  and 
then  there  was  Dossie  and  her  wonderful  rig-out, 
the  clean,  white  frock  and  the  serge  jacket  of  tur- 
quoise blue  and  the  tiny  mushroom  hat  with  the 
white  ribbon.  It  took  five  minutes  more  to  find 
Stanley's  hat,  the  little  soft  hat  of  white  felt,  in 
which  he  was  so  adorable.  They  found  it  on  Ranny's 
bed,  and  then  they  started. 

It  was  a  great,  an  immense  adventure,  right  away 
to  the  other  side  of  London. 

"We'll  take  everything  we  can,"  said  Ranny. 
And  they  did.  They  took  the  motor  bus  to  Earl's 
Court  Tube  Station,  and  the  Tube  (two  Tubes  they 
had  to  take)  to  Golder's  Green.  The  adventure 
began  in  the  first  lift. 

"Where  we  goin'?"  the  children  cried.  "Where 
we  goin',  Daddy?" 

"We're  going  down — down — ever  so  far  down, 
with  London  on  the  top  of  us — ^All  the  horses" — 
Winny  worked  the  excitement  up  and  up — "All  the 
people — All  the  motor  buses  on  the  top  of  us — " 

"On  top  of  me?" 

"And  on  me?"  cried  Dossie.  "And  on  Daddy 
and  on  Winky?" 

"Will  it  make  us  dead?"  said  Stanley.  He  was 
thrilled  at  the  prospect. 

"  No.      More  alive  than   ever.     We  shall  come 
rushing  out,  like  bunny  rabbits,  into  the  country  on 
the  other  side." 
21  31S 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Ever  so  far  down  into  the  earth  they  went,  with 
London,  and  then  Camden  Town,  and  then  Hamp- 
stead  Heath — a  great  big  high  hill — right  on  the  top 
of  them;  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  just  as  Winny 
had  said,  they  came  rushing  out,  more  alive  than 
ever,  into  the  country,  into  the  green  fields. 

But  there  was  something  wrong  with  Ranny.  He 
wasn't  like  himself.  He  wasn't  excited  or  amused 
or  interested  in  anything.  He  looked  as  if  he  were 
trying  not  to  hear  what  Winny  was  saying  to  the 
children.  He  was  abstracted.  He  went  like  a  man 
in  a  dream.  He  behaved  almost  as  if  he  wanted  to 
show  that  he  didn't  really  belong  to  them. 

Of  course,  he  did  all  the  proper  things.  He  car- 
ried his  little  son.  He  lifted  him  and  Dossie  in  and 
out  of  the  trains  as  if  they  had  been  parcels  labeled 
"Fragile,  with  Care."  But  he  did  it  like  a  porter, 
a  sulky  porter  who  was  tired  of  lifting  things;  and 
they  might  really  have  been  somebody  else's  glass 
and  china  for  all  he  seemed  to  care. 

Ranny  was  angry.  He  was  angry  with  the  little 
things  for  being  there.  He  was  angry  with  himself 
for  having  brought  them,  and  with  Winny  for  having 
made  him  bring  them;  and  he  was  angry  with  him- 
self for  being  angry.  But  he  couldn't  help  it.  Their 
voices  exasperated  him.  The  children's  voices, 
the  high,  reiterated  singsong,  "Where  we  goin'?" 
Winny's  voice,  poignantly  soft,  insufferably  patient, 
answering  them  with  all  that  tender  silliness,  that 
persistent,  gentle,  intolerably  gentle  tommy-rot. 

For  all  the  time  he  was  saying  to  himself,  "She 
doesn't  care.  She  doesn't  care  a  hang.  It's  them 
she  cares  for.  It's  them  she  wants.  It's  them 
she's  wanted  all  the  time.     She's  that  sort." 

316 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  as  he  brooded  on  it,  hatred  of  Winky,  who  had 
so  fooled  him,  crept  into  his  heart. 

"Oh,  Daddy!"  Dossie  shouted,  with  excitement. 
(They  had  emerged  into  the  beautiful  open  space  in 
front  of  Golder's  Green  Station.)  "Daddy,  we're 
bunnies  now!  We'll  be  dea'  little  baby  bunnies. 
You'll  be  Father  Bunny,  and  Winky  '11  be  Mrs. 
Mother  Bun!    Be  a  bunny,  Daddy?" 

Perceiving  his  cruel  abstraction,  Dossie  entreated 
and  implored.     "Be  it!" 

But  Daddy  refused  to  be  a  bimny  or  anything 
that  was  required  of  him.  So  silent  was  he  and  so 
stem  that  even  Winny  saw  that  there  was  something 
wrong.  She  knew  by  the  way  he  let  Stanny  down 
from  his  shoulder  to  the  ground,  a  way  which  im- 
plied that  Stanny  was  not  so  young  nor  yet  so  small 
and  helpless  as  he  seemed.     He  could  walk. 

Stanny  felt  it;  he  felt  it  in  the  jerk  that  landed 
him;   but  he  didn't  care,  he  was  far  too  happy. 

"He's  a  young  Turk,"  said  Winny,  and  he  was. 
By  his  whole  maimer,  by  the  swing  of  his  tiny  arms, 
by  his  tilted,  roguish  smile,  by  his  eyes,  impudent 
and  joyous  (blue  they  were,  like  his  mother's,  but 
clear,  tilted,  and  curled  like  Ranny's),  Stanny  in- 
timated that  Daddy  was  sold  if  he  imagined  that  to 
walk  was  not  just  what  Stanny  wanted.  And  in 
spite  of  it  he  was  heartrending,  pathetic ;  so  small  he 
was,  with  all  his  baby  roundness  accentuated  ab- 
surdly by  the  knickers. 

"He's  just  such  another  as  you,  Ranny,"  Winny 
said.  (She  was  uncontrollable !)  "  Such  a  little  man 
as  he  is,  in  those  knickers." 

"Damn  his  knickers,"  said  Ranny  to  himself,  be- 
hind his  set  teeth.     But  he  smiled  all  the  same;  and 

317 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

by  the  time  they  had  got  into  the  wonderful  walled 
garden  of  Golder's  Hill  he  had  recovered  almost 
completely. 

It  was  not  decent  to  keep  on  sulking  in  a  place 
which  had  so  laid  itself  out  to  make  you  happy; 
where  the  sunshine  flowed  round  you  and  soaked 
into  you  and  warmed  you  as  if  you  were  in  a  bath. 
The  garden,  inclosed  in  rose-red  walls  and  green 
hedges,  was  like  a  great  tank  filled  with  sunshine; 
sunshine  that  was  visible,  palpable,  audible  almost 
in  its  intensity;  sunshine  caught  and  contained  and 
brimming  over,  that  quivered  and  flowed  in  and 
around  the  wall-flowers,  tulips  and  narcissus,  that 
drenched  them  through  and  through  and  covered 
them  like  water,  and  was  thick  with  all  their  scents. 
You  walked  on  golden  paths  through  labyrinths  of 
brilliant  flowers,  through  arches,  tunnels  and  bowers 
of  green.  You  were  netted  in  sunshine,  drugged 
with  sweet  live  smells,  caged  in  with  blossoms,  pink 
and  white,  of  the  espaliers  that  clung,  branch  and 
bud,  like  carved  latticework,  flat  to  the  garden  wall. 

Neither  could  he  well  have  sulked  in  the  great 
space  outside,  where  the  green  lawns  unrolled  and 
flung  themselves  generously,  joyously  to  the  sun, 
or  where,  on  the  light  slope  of  the  field  beyond,  the 
trees  hung  out  their  drooping  vans,  lifted  up  green 
roof  above  green  roof,  sheltering  a  happy  crowd. 

And  even  if  these  things,  in  their  benignant,  ad- 
monishing, reminding  beauty,  had  not  restored  his 
decency,  he  was  bound  to  soften  and  unbend,  when, 
as  they  were  going  over  the  rustic  bridge,  Stanny 
tried  to  turn  himself  upside  down  among  the  water 
lilies.  And  as  he  captured  Stanny  by  a  miracle  of 
dexterity,  just  in  time,  he  realized,  as  if  it  had  been 

318 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

some  new  and  remarkable  discovery,  that  his  little 
son  was  dear  to  him. 

By  slow  stages,  after  many  adventures  and  delays, 
they  reached  the  managerie  on  the  south  side. 

"Oh,  Daddy,  Daddy,  look  at  that  funny  bird!" 

Dossie  tugged  and  shouted. 

In  a  comer  of  his  yard,  round  and  round,  with  in- 
conceivable rapidity  and  an  astounding  innocence, 
as  if  he  imagined  himself  alone  and  unobserved,  the 
Emu  danced  like  a  bird  demented.  On  tiptoe, 
absurdly  elongated,  round  and  round,  ecstatically, 
deliriously,  he  danced.  He  danced  till  his  legs  and 
his  neck  were  as  one  high  perpendicular  pole  and  his 
body  a  mere  whorl  of  feathers  spinning  round  it, 
driven  by  the  flapping  of  his  wings. 

"He  is  making  an  almighty  fool  of  himself,"  said 
Ranny. 

"What  does  he  do  it  for,  Daddy?" 

"Let's  ask  the  keeper." 

And  they  asked  him. 

"'E's  a  Emu,  that's  what  'e  is,"  said  the  keeper. 
"That's  what  he  does  when  he  goes  courtin'.  Only 
there  won't  be  no  courtin'  for  him  this  time.  'Is 
mate  died  yesterday." 

"And  yet  he  dances,"  Winny  said. 

"And  yet  he  dances.  Heartless  bird!"  said 
Ranny. 

They  looked  at  the  Emu,  who  went  on  dancing 
as  if  unobserved. 

"Scandalous,  I  call  it,"  Ranny  said.     "Unfeelin'." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Winny,  "the  poor  thing  doesn't 
know." 

"Per'aps  he  does  know,  and  that's  why  he's 
dancin'." 

319 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Winny  gazed,  fascinated,  at  the  uplifted  and  ec- 
static head. 

"I  know,"  she  said.  "It's  his  grief.  It's  affected 
his  brain." 

"It's  Nacher,"  said  the  keeper,  "that's  what  it 
is.  Nacher's  wound  'im  up  to  go,  and  he  goes,  you 
see,  whether  or  no.  It's  the  instint  in  'im  and  the 
time  of  year.     'E  don't  know  no  more  than  that." 

"But  that,"  said  Winny,  "makes  it  all  the  sad- 
der." 

She  was  sorry  for  the  Emu,  so  bereaved  and  so 
deluded,  dancing  his  fruitless,  lamentable  dance. 

"He  is  funny,  isn't  he?"  said  Stanny. 

And  they  went  slowly,  spinning  out  their  pleasure, 
back  to  that  part  of  the  lawn  where  there  were  in- 
numerable little  tables  covered  with  pink  cloths,  set 
out  under  the  trees,  and  seated  at  the  tables  innu- 
merable family  parties,  innumerable  pairs  of  lovers, 
pairs  of  married  people,  pairs  of  working  women  and 
of  working  girls  on  holiday ;  all  happy  for  their  hour, 
all  whispering,  laughing,  chattering,  and  drinking 
tea. 

On  the  terrace  in  front  of  the  big  red  house  were 
other  tables  with  white  covers  under  awnings  like 
huge  sunshades,  where  people  who  could  afford  the 
terrace  sat  in  splendor  and  in  isolation  and  listened 
to  the  music,  played  on  the  veranda,  of  violins  and 
cello  and  piano. 

Ransome  and  Winny  and  the  children  chose  a 
pink-covered  table  on  the  lawn  under  a  holly  tree  in 
a  place  all  by  themselves.  And  they  had  tea  there, 
such  a  tea  as  stands  out  forever  in  memory,  beauti- 
ful and  solitary.  What  the  children  didn't  have  for 
tea,  Ranny  said,  was  not  worth  mentioning. 

320 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  after  tea  they  sat  in  luxurious  folding-chairs 
under  the  terrace  and  listened  to  the  violins,  the 
cello,  and  piano.  Other  people  were  doing  the  same 
thing  as  if  they  had  been  invited  to  do  it,  as  if  they 
were  all  one  party,  with  somewhere  a  friendly  host 
and  hostess  imploring  them  to  be  seated,  to  be 
happy  and  to  make  themselves  at  home. 

And  down  the  slope  of  the  lawn,  Stanny  and  Dos- 
sie  rolled  over  and  over  in  the  joy  of  life.  And  up 
the  slope  they  toiled,  laughing,  to  roll  interminably 
down. 

And  the  moments  while  they  rolled  were  golden, 
priceless  to  Ranny.  Winny,  seated  beside  him  on 
her  chair,  watched  them  rolling. 

"It's  Stanny 's  knickers,"  she  said,  "that  I  can't 
get  over!" 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  of  them  again"  (the  golden 
moments  were  so  few).  "You  make  me  wish  I 
hadn't  brought  those  kids." 

"Oh,  Ranny!"  Her  eyes  were  serious  and  re- 
proachful. 

"  Well  —  I  can't  get  you  to  myself  one  min- 
ute." 

"But  aren't  we  having  quite  a  happy  day?"  she 
said.  "What  with  the  beautifid  flowers  and  the 
music  and  the  Emu — " 

"You  were  sorry,  Winky,  for  that  disgraceful 
bird,  and  you're  not  a  bit  sorry  for  me." 

"Why  should  I  be?" 

"My  case  is  similar." 

Her  eyes  were  serious  still,  but  round  the  corners 
of  her  mouth  a  little  smile  was  playing  in  secret  by 
itself.  She  didn't  know  it  was  there,  or  she  never 
would  have  let  it  play. 

321 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Don't  you  know  that  I  want  to  say  things  to 
you?" 

She  looked  at  him  and  was  frightened  by  the 
hunger  in  his  eyes. 

"Not  now,  Ranny,"  she  said.     "Not  yet." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  want" — she  was  desperate — "I  want  to  listen 
to  the  music." 

At  that  moment  the  violins  and  the  cello  were 
struggling  together  in  a  cry  of  anguish  and  of 
passion. 

"You  don't,''  he  said,  savagely. 

He  was  right.  She  didn't.  The  music,  yearning 
and  struggling,  tore  at  her  heart,  set  her  nerves 
vibrating,  her  breast  heaving.  It  was  as  if  it  drew 
her  to  Ranny,  urgently,  irresistibly,  against  her  will. 

"Not  now,  Ranny,"  she  said,  "not  now."  And 
it  was  as  if  she  asked  him  to  take  pity  on  her. 

"No,"  he  said.  "Not  now.  But  presently,  when 
I  see  you  home." 

"No.  Not  even  then.  Not  at  all.  You  mustn't, 
dear,"  she  whispered. 

"I  shall." 

They  sat  silent  and  let  the  music  do  with  them  as 
it  would. 

And  the  sun  dropped  to  the  fields  and  flooded 
them  and  sank  far  away,  behind  Harrow  on  the  Hill. 
And  they  called  the  children,  the  tired  children,  to 
them  and  went  home. 

Stanny  had  to  be  carried  all  the  way.  He  hung 
on  his  father's  shoulder,  utterly  limp,  utterly  help- 
less, utterly  pathetic. 

"He's  nothing  but  a  baby  after  all,"  said  Winny. 

They  were  going  over  Wandsworth  Bridge. 

322 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

\  - 

"Do  you  remember,  Ranny,  the  first  time  you 
ever  saw  me  home,  going  over  this  bridge  ?  What  a 
moon  there  was!" 

"I  do.    That  was  a  moon,"  said  Ranny. 


There  was  no  moon  for  them  to-night. 

It  was  in  a  clear  twihght,  an  hour  later,  that  he 
saw  her  home. 

They  went  half  the  way  without  speaking,  till  they 
came  to  the  little  three-cornered  grove  beside  the 
public  footpath.  It  was  deserted.  He  proposed 
that  they  should  sit  there  for  a  while. 

"It's  the  only  chance  I'll  ever  get,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

She  consented.  The  plane  trees  sheltered  them 
and  made  darkness  for  them  where  they  sat. 

"Winky,"  he  said,  after  an  agonizing  pause,  "you 
must  have  thought  it  queer  that  I've  never  thanked 
you  for  all  you've  done  for  me." 

"Why  should  you?     It's  so  little.     It's  nothing." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  what  it  is  and 
what  you've  done  it  for?" 

"Yes,  Ranny,  you  know  what  I  did  it  for,  and 
you  see,  it's  been  no  good." 

"How  d'you  mean,  no  good?" 

"It  didn't  do  what  I  thought  it  would." 

"What  was  that?" 

"It  didn't  keep  poor  Vi  and  you  together." 

"Reelly" — She  went  on  as  if  she  were  delivering 
her  soul  at  last  of  the  burden  that  had  been  too 
heavy  for  it — "I  can  see  it  all  now.  It  did  more 
harm  than  good." 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?" 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"D'you  mind  talking  about  it?" 

"Not  a  bit." 

"Well,  don't  you  see — it  made  it  easier  for  her. 
It  gave  her  the  time  and  everything  she  wanted.  If 
I  hadn't  been  there  that  night  she  couldn't  have 
gone,  Ranny.  She  wouldn't  have  left  the  children. 
She  wouldn't,  reelly.  And  I  hadn't  the  sense  to 
see  it  then." 

"I'm  glad  you  hadn't." 

"Oh,  why?" 

"Because  then  you  wouldn't  have  been  there.  I 
knew  you  were  trying  to  keep  it  all  together.  But 
it  was  bound  to  go.  It  couldn't  have  lasted.  She'd 
have  gone  anyhow.  You  don't  worry  about  that 
now,  do  you?" 

"Sometimes  I  can't  help  thinking  of  it." 

"Don't  think  of  it." 

"I  won't  so  long  as  you  know  what  I  did  it  for." 

He  meditated. 

"I  know  what  you  did  it  for  in  the  beginning. 
But — Winks — you  were  there  afterward." 

"Afterward—?" 

"After  Virelet  went  you  were  doing  things." 

"Well — and  didn't  you  want  me?" 

* '  Of  course  I  wanted  you.  Did  you  never  wonder 
why  I  let  you  do  things?  Why  I  can  bear  to  take 
it  from  you?  Don't  you  know  I  couldn't  let  any 
other  woman  do  what  you  do  for  me?" 

"I'm  glad  if  you  feel  like  that  about  it." 

"I  don't  believe  you've  any  idea  how  I  feel  about 
it.  I  don't  beHeve  you  imderstand  it  yet."  His 
voice  thickened. 

"I  couldn't  have  let  you,  Winny,  if  I  hadn't 
cared  for  you.     I  should  have  been  a  low  animal, 

324 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

a  mean  swine  to  let  you  if  I  hadn't  cared.  I'm  not 
talking  as  if  my  caring  paid  you  back  in  any  way. 
I  couldn't  pa}'-  you  back  if  I  worked  for  you  for  the 
rest  of  my  Hfe.  But  that's  what  I'm  going  to  do  if 
I  can  get  the  chance." 

She  could  feel  him  trembling  beside  her  and  she 
was  afraid. 

"Would  you  let  me?"  he  said.  "Would  you  have 
me,  Winny?  Do  you  care  for  me  enough  to  have 
me?" 

"You  know  I've  always  cared  for  you." 

"Would  you  marry  me  if  I  was  free?" 

"Don't  talk  about  it,  dear.     You  mustn't." 

"And  why  mustn't  I?" 

"It's  no  good.  You're  not  free.  You  married 
Vi,  dear,  and  whatever  she's  done  you  can't  un- 
marry  her." 

"Can't  I?  That's  precisely  what  I  can  do;  and 
it's  what  I'm  going  to  do." 

"You're  not.     You  couldn't." 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  shrank  from  him  in 
horror. 

"You  don't  understand.  You're  talking  as  if  she 
and  I  cared  for  each  other.  That's  at  an  end.  It's 
done  for.     She's  asked  me  to  divorce  her." 

"Asked  you?     When?" 

"More  than  two  years  ago,  and  I  promised.  She 
wants  to  marry  Mercier,  and  she'd  better.  I'd  have 
been  free  two  years  ago  if  I'd  had  the  money.  But 
I've  got  it  now.  I've  been  saving  for  it.  I've  been 
doing  nothing  else,  thinking  of  nothing  else  from 
morning  till  night  for  more  than  two  years,  because 
I  meant  to  ask  you  to  marry  me." 

"All  that  time?" 

325 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"All  that  time." 

"But  Rann}^  you  know  you  needn't.  I'm  quite 
happy," 

"Are  you?" 

"Yes.  You  mustn't  think  I'm  not  and  that 
you've  got  to  make  anything  up  to  me,  because  that 
would  make  me  feel  as  if  I'd — there's  a  word  for  it, 
I  know,  but  I  can't  think  of  it.  It's  what  horrid 
girls  do  to  men  when  they're  trying  to  get  hold  of 
them — as  if  I'd  comp — comprised — " 

"D'you  mean  compromised?" 

"Yes." 

"I  make  you  feel  as  if  you'd  compromised  me?" 

"That's  right." 

"Well,  I  am  jiggered!  If  that  doesn't  about  take 
the  biscuit!  Winky,  you're  a  blessing,  you're  a 
treasure,  you're  a  treat;  I  could  live  for  a  fortnight 
on  the  things  you  find  to  say." 

He  would  have  drawn  her  to  him,  but  she  held 
herself  rigid. 

"Well,  but— I  haven't— have  I?" 

"If  you  mean,  have  you  made  me  want  to  marry 
you,  you  have.  Haven't  I  told  you  I've  thought  of 
nothing  else  for  more  than  two  years?" 

"D'you  want  it  so  badly,  Ranny?" 

"I  want  you  so  badly.  Didn't  you  Imow  I  did? 
Of  course  you  knew." 

"No,  Ranny,  I  didn't.  I  thought  all  the  time 
perhaps  some  day  poor  Vireletwould  come  back." 

"She'll  never  come  back." 
But,  if  she  did  ?     If  she  changed  her  mind  ?     Per- 
haps she's  changed  it  now  and  wants  to  come  back 
and  be  good." 

"If  she  did  I  wouldn't  take  her." 
326 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

He  felt  her  eyes  turn  on  him  through  the  dark  in 
wonder. 

"But  you'd  have  to.     You  couldn't  not." 

"I  could,  and  I  would." 

"No,  Ranny,  you  wouldn't.  You'd  never  be  cruel 
to  poor  Vi." 

"Don't  talk  about  her.     Don't  think  about  her." 

"But  we  must.  There  she  is.  There  she's  always 
been—" 

"And  here  we  are.  And  here  we've  always  been. 
Have  you  ever  thought  for  a  minute  of  yourself? 
Have  you  ever  thought  of  me?  I'm  sick  of  hearing 
you  say  'poor  Vi.'  Poor  Vi!  D'you  know  why  I 
won't  take  her  back?  Why  I  can't  forgive  her? 
It's  not  for  what  you  know  she's  done.  It's  for 
something  you  never  knew  about.  I've  a  good  mind 
to  tell  you." 

"No — don't.  I'd  rather  not  know.  Whatever  it 
was,  she  couldn't  help  it." 

"You  ought  to  know.  It  was  something  she  did 
to  you." 

"She  never  did  anything  to  me,  Ranny." 

"Didn't  she?  She  did  something  to  me  that  came 
to  the  same  thing.  I  suppose  you  think  I  cared  for 
her  before  I  cared  for  you?" 

"Well— yes." 

"I  didn't  then.  It  was  the  other  way  about. 
And  she  knew  it.  And  she  lied  to  me  about  you. 
She  told  me  you  didn't  care  for  me." 

"She  told  you—?" 

"She  told  me." 

"I  didn't  think  that  Virelet  would  have  done 
that." 

"Nor  I." 

327 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

She  paused,  considering  it. 

"How  did  you  find  out  it  was  a  lie,  Ranny?  Oh 
— oh — I  suppose  I  show^ed  you — " 

"Not  you.     She  owned  up  herself." 

"When?" 

"That  night  she  went  off.  She  wrote  it  in  that 
letter.  She  told  me  why  she  did  it,  too.  It  was 
because  she  knew  I  cared  for  you  and  was  afraid  I'd 
marry  you.  She  wasn't  going  to  have  that.  Now 
you  know  what  she  is." 

"Why  did  you  believe  her?" 

"Why,  Winky,  you,  you  little  wretch,  you  took 
care  of  that  all  right." 

"But,  Ranny,  if  you  cared  for  me,  why  did  you 
marry  her?" 

"Because  I  was  mad  and  she  was  mad,  and  we 
neither  of  us  knew  what  we  were  doing.  It  was 
something  that  got  hold  of  us." 

"Aren't  you  mad  now,  Ranny?" 

"Rather!  But  I  know  what  I'm  doing  all  the 
same.     I  didn't  know  when  I  married  Violet." 

' '  Don't  talk  as  if  you  didn't  care  for  her.  You  did 
care." 

"Of  course  I  cared  for  her.  But  even  that  was 
different  somehow.  She  was  different.  Why  do 
you  bother  about  her?" 

"I'm  only  wondering  how  you'd  feel  if  you  was 
to  see  her  again." 

"I  shouldn't  feel  anything — anything  at  all. 
Seeing  her  would  have  no  more  effect  on  me  than 
if  she  was  a  piece  of  clockwork."     He  paused. 

"I  say — you're  not  afraid  of  her?"  he  said. 

"No.  I've  been  through  all  that  and  got  over  it, 
I'm  not  afraid  of  anything." 

328 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"You  mean  you're  not  afraid  to  marry  me?" 

"No.     I'm  not  afraid." 

He  felt  her  smile  flicker  in  the  darkness. 

It  was  then  that  in  the  darkness  he  drew  her  to 
him,  and  she  let  herself  be  dravra,  her  breast  to  his 
breast  and  her  head  against  his  shoulder.  And  as 
she  rested  there  she  trembled,  she  shivered  with 
delight  and  fear. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

HE  had  seen  her  home.  At  her  door  in  the  quiet 
Avenue  he  had  held  her  in  his  arms  again  and 
kissed  her.  Her  eyes  shone  at  his  under  the  lamp- 
light. 

He  went  back  slowly,  reviving  the  sweet  sense  of 
her. 

A  great  calm  had  followed  his  excitement.  He 
was  sustained  by  an  absolute  certainty  of  happiness. 
It  was  in  his  grasp,  nothing  could  take  it  from  him. 
He  would  raise  the  rest  of  the  money  on  Monday. 
He  would  see  that  lawyer  on  Wednesday.  Then  he 
would  take  proceedings.  Once  he  had  set  the  ma- 
chinery going  it  couldn't  be  stopped.  The  law 
simply  took  the  thing  over,  took  it  out  of  his  hands, 
and  he  ceased  to  be  responsible. 

So  he  argued;  for  at  the  back  of  his  mind  he  saw 
more  clearly  than  ever  (he  could  not  help  seeing) 
something  that  might  stop  it  all,  disaster  so  great, 
so  overwhelming  that  when  it  came  his  affairs  would 
be  swallowed  up  in  it.  In  the  face  of  that  disaster 
it  would  be  indecent  of  him  to  have  any  affairs  of 
his  own,  or  at  any  rate  to  insist  on  them.  But  he 
refused  to  dwell  on  this  possibility.  He  persuaded 
himself  that  his  father  was  better,  that  he  would 
even  recover,  and  that  the  business  would  recover 
too.  For  the  last  six  months  Ponting  had  been  run- 
ning it  with  an  assistant  under  him,  and  between 
them  they  had  done  wonders  with  it,  considering. 

330 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  on  the  Sunday  something  occurred  that  con- 
firmed him  in  his  rosy  optimism. 

His  father  was  having  another  good  day,  and  they 
had  wheeled  him  into  the  front  sitting-room.  Up- 
stairs in  the  small  back  room  Ransome  was  getting 
the  children  ready  for  their  Sunday  walk,  when  his 
mother  came  to  him. 

"Ranny,"  she  said,  "take  off  their  hats  and  coats, 
dear.     Your  Father  wants  them." 

"What  does  he  want  them  for?" 

"It's  his  fancy.  He's  gettin'  better,  I  think.  I 
don't  know  when  I've  seen  him  so  bright  and  con- 
tented as  he's  been  these  last  two  days.  And  so 
pleased  with  everything  you  do  for  him —  There, 
take  them  down,  dear,  quick." 

He  took  them  down  and  led  them  into  the  room.' 
But  they  refused  to  look  at  their  grandfather;  they 
turned  from  him  at  once ;  they  hid  their  faces  behind 
Ranny's  legs. 

"They're  afraid  of  me,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr. 
Ransome. 

"No,"  said  Ranny,  "they're  not."  But  he  had 
to  take  Stanny  in  his  arms  and  comfort  him  lest  he 
should  cry. 

"You're  not  afraid  of  Gran,  are  you?  Show  Gran 
your  pretty  pinny,  Doss." 

He  gave  her  a  gentle  push,  and  the  child  stood 
there  holding  out  her  pinafore  and  gazing  over  it  at 
her  grandfather  with  large,  frightened  eyes.  Mr. 
Ransome's  eyes  looked  back  at  her.  They  were 
sunken,  somber,  wistful,  unutterably  sad.  He  did 
not  speak.  He  did  not  smile.  It  was  impossible 
to  say  what  he  was  thinking. 

This  mutual  inspection  lasted  for  a  moment  so 
22  331 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

intense  that  it  seemed  immeasurable.  Then  Mr. 
Ransome  closed  his  eyes  as  if  pained  and  exhausted. 

And  Ranny  stooped  and  whispered,  "Kiss  him, 
Dossie,  kiss  poor  Gran." 

The  child,  perceiving  pity  somewhere  and  awed 
into  submission,  did  her  best,  but  her  kiss  barely 
brushed  the  sallow,  waxen  face.  And  as  he  felt  her 
there  Mr.  Ransome  opened  his  eyes  suddenly  and 
looked  at  her  again,  and  Dossie,  terrified,  turned 
away  and  burst  out  crying. 

"She's  shy.  She's  a  silly  little  girl,"  said  Ranny, 
as  he  led  her  away.  He  knew  that,  in  the  moment 
when  the  child  had  turned  from  him,  his  father  had 
felt  outcast  from  life  and  utterly  alone. 

Mr.  Ransome  stirred  and  looked  after  him.  "You 
come  back  here,"  he  said.  "I've  something  to  say 
to  you." 

Ranny  took  the  children  to  his  mother  and  went 
back.  Mr.  Ransome  was  sitting  up  in  his  chair. 
He  had  roused  himself.  He  looked  strangely  in^ 
telligent  and  alert. 

He  signed  to  his  son  to  sit  near  him. 

"How  old  are  those  children?"  he  said. 

"Dossie  was  five  in  March,  and  Stanny  was  three 
in  April." 

"And  they've  been — how  long  without  their 
mother?" 

"It  '11  be  three  years  next  October." 

"Why  don't  you  get  rid  of  that  woman?"  said 
Mr.  Ransome.  It  was  as  if  with  effort  and  with 
pain  and  out  of  the  secret,  iiltimate  sources  of  his 
being  that  he  drew  the  energy  to  say  it.  They  would 
never  know  what  he  was  thinking,  never  know  (as 
Ranny  had  once  said)  what  was  going  on  inside  him. 

332 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

And  of  all  impossible  things,  this  was  what  he  had 
come  out  with  now ! 

"Do  you  mean  that,  Father?" 

"Of  course  I  mean  it." 

"Well,  then — as  it  happens — it's  what  I'm  going 
to  do." 

"You  should  have  done  it  before." 

"I  couldn't." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  hadn't  the  money." 

Mr.  Ransome  closed  his  eyes  again  as  if  in  pain. 

"I'd  have  given  it  you,  Randall,"  he  said,  pres- 
ently. He  had  opened  his  eyes,  but  they  wandered 
imeasily,  avoiding  his  son's  gaze.  "If  I'd  had  it. 
But  I  hadn't.     I've  been  doing  badly." 

And  again  his  eyelids  dropped  and  lifted. 

"Things  have  gone  wrong  that  hadn't  ought  to  if 
I'd  been  what  I  should  be." 

There  was  anguish  in  Ranny's  father's  eyes  now. 
They  turned  to  him  for  reassurance.  As  if  in  some 
final  act  of  humility  and  contrition,  he  unbared  and 
abased  himself,  he  laid  down  the  pretension  of 
integrity. 

His  shawl  had  slipped  from  his  knees.  His  hands 
moved  over  it  as  if,  having  unbared,  he  now  sought 
to  cover  himself.  Ransome  stooped  over  him  and 
drew  the  shawl  up  higher  and  wrapped  it  closer  with 
careful,  tender  touches. 

"Don't  worry  about  that,"  he  said. 

"Your  Mother  '11  be  all  right,  Randall.  She's  got 
a  bit  of  her  own.  It's  all  there,  except  what  she  put 
into  the  business.  You  won't  have  to  trouble  about 
her."  He  paused.  "Have  you  got  the  money 
now?"  he  said. 

33d 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"I  shall  have.     To-morrow,  probably." 

"Then  don't  you  wait." 

"It  '11  be  beastly  work,  you  know,  Father.  Are 
you  sure  you  don't  mind?" 

"What  I  mind  is  your  being  married  to  that 
woman.     I  never  liked  it,  Randall." 

He  closed  his  eyes.  His  face  became  more  than 
ever  drawn  and  peaked.  His  mouth  opened.  With 
short,  hard  gasps  he  fought  for  the  breath  he  had 
so  spent. 

Ransome's  heart  reproached  him  because  he  had 
not  cared  enough  about  his  father.  And  he  said 
to  himself,  "He  must  have  cared  a  lot  more  than 
he  ever  let  on." 

The  way  to  the  Divorce  Court  had  been  made 
marvelously  smooth  for  him.  His  mother  couldn't 
say  now  that  it  would  kill  his  father. 

But  on  Monday  morning  things  did  not  go  with 
Ransome  entirely  as  he  had  expected.  Shaftesbury 
Avenue  refused  to  lend  him  more  than  ten  pounds 
on  the  security  of  his  furniture.  Still,  that  was  a 
trifling  hitch.  Now  that  the  proceedings  had  been 
consecrated  by  his  father's  sanction,  there  could  be 
no  doubt  that  his  mother  would  be  glad  to  lend  him 
the  five  pounds.  He  would  ask  her  for  it  that 
evening  as  soon  as  he  got  home. 


But  he  did  not  ask  her  that  evening,  nor  yet  the 
next.  He  did  not  ask  her  for  it  at  all.  For  as  soon 
as  he  got  home  she  came  to  him  out  of  his  father's 
room.  She  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  by  the 
door  of  the  room,  leaning  against  the  banisters, 
And  she  was  crying. 

334 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Is  Father  worse?"  he  said. 

"He's  going,  my  dear.  There's  a  trained  nurse 
just  come.  She's  in  there  with  the  doctor.  But 
they  can't  do  anything." 

He  drew  her  into  the  front  room,  and  she  told  hirn 
what  had  happened. 

"He  was  sittin'  in  his  chair  there  like  he  was 
yesterday — so  bright — and  I  thought  he  was  better, 
and  I  made  him  a  drop  of  chicken  broth  and  sat 
with  him  while  he  took  it.  Then  I  left  him  there 
for  a  bit  and  went  upstairs  to  the  children — Docsie 
was  sick  this  morning — " 

"Dossie— ?" 

"It's  nothing — she's  upset  with  something  she's 
eaten — and  I  was  there  with  her  ten  minutes  per'aps, 
and  when  I  came  back  I  found  your  Father  in  a  fit. 
A  convulsion,  the  doctor  says  it  was;  he  said  all 
along  he  might  have  them,  but  I  thought  he  was 
better.  And  he's  had  another  this  evening,  and  he 
hasn't  come  round  out  of  it  right.  He  doesn't 
know  me,  Ranny." 

He  had  nothing  to  say  to  her.  It  was  as  if  he  had 
known  that  it  would  happen,  and  that  it  would  hap- 
pen Hke  this,  that  he  would  come  home  at  this  hour 
and  find  his  mother  standing  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  and  that  she  would  tell  him  these  things  in 
these  words.  He  even  had  the  feeling  that  he  ought 
to  have  told  her,  to  have  warned  her  that  it  would 
be  so. 

On  Wednesday  evening,  at  eight  o'clock,  when 
Ransome  should  have  been  in  the  lawyer's  room  at 
the  Polytechnic,  he  was  standing  by  his  father's  bed. 
Mr.  Ransome  had  partially  recovered  consciousness, 
and  he  lay  supported  by  his  son's  arms  in  preference 

335 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

to  his  own  bed.  For  his  bed  had  become  odious  to 
him,  sinking  under  him,  falling  from  him  treacher- 
ously as  he  sank  and  fell,  whereas  Ranny's  muscles 
adjusted  themselves  to  all  his  sinkings  and  fallings. 
They  remained  and  could  be  felt  in  the  disintegra- 
tion that  presently  separated  them  from  the  rest  of 
Ranny,  Ranny's  arms  being  there,  close  under  him, 
and  Ranny's  face  a  long  way  off  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room. 

The  process  of  dissolution  had  nothing  to  do  with 
Mr.  Ransome.  It  went  on,  not  in  him  but  outside 
him,  in  the  room.  He  was  almost  unaware  of  it, 
it  was  so  inconceivably  gradual,  so  immeasurably 
slow.  First  of  all  the  room  began  to  fill  with  gray 
fog,  and  for  ages  and  ages  Ranny's  face  and  his 
wife's  face  hung  over  him,  bodiless,  like  pale  lumps 
in  the  fog.  Then  for  ages  and  for  ages  they  were 
blurred,  and  then  withdrawn  from  him,  then  blotted 
out. 

This  dying,  which  was  so  eternally  tedious  to  Mr. 
Ransome,  lasted  about  twenty  minutes,  so  that  at 
half  past  eight,  when  Ranny  should  have  been  lis- 
tening to  his  legal  adviser,  he  was  trying  to  under- 
stand what  the  doctor  was  trying  to  tell  him  about 
the  causes,  the  very  complicated  causes  of  his  father's 
death. 


And  with  Mr.  Ransome's  death  there  came  again 
on  Ranny  and  his  mother,  and  on  all  of  them,  the 
innocence  and  the  immense  delusion  in  which  they 
had  lived,  in  which  they  had  kept  it  up,  in  the  days 
before  Ranny's  wife  had  run  away  from  him  and 
before  Ranny's  enlightenment  and  his  awful  out- 

336 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

burst.  Only  the  innocence  was  ten  times  more  per- 
sistent, the  delusion  ten  times  more  solemn  and  more 
unutterably  sacred  now.  Mr.  Ransome's  death 
made  it  impossible  for  them  to  speak  or  think  or 
feel  about  him  otherwise  than  if  he  had  been  a  good 
man.  If  Ranny  could  have  doubted  it  he  would 
have  stood  reproved.  From  the  doctor's  manner, 
from  his  Uncle  Randall's  manner  and  his  Aunt  Ran- 
dall's, from  Mr.  Ponting's  and  the  assistant's  man- 
ner, and  from  the  manner,  the  swollen  grief,  imcon- 
trolled  and  uncontrollable,  of  the  servant  Mabel, 
he  woiild  have  gathered  that  his  father  was  a  good 
man. 

But  Ransome  never  doubted  it.  He  spoke,  he 
thought,  he  felt  as  if  his  father's  death  had  left  him 
inconsolable.  It  was  the  death  of  a  man  who  had 
made  them  all  ashamed  and  miserable;  who  had 
tried  to  take  the  joy  out  of  Ranny 's  life  as  he  had 
already  taken  it  out  of  Ranny 's  mother's  face;  who 
had  hardly  ever  spoken  a  kind  word  to  him;  who,  if 
it  came  to  that,  had  never  done  anything  for  him 
beyond  contributing,  infinitesimally,  to  his  exist- 
ence. And  even  this  Mr.  Ransome  had  done  by 
accident  and  inadvertence,  thinking  (if  he  could  be 
said  to  have  been  thinking  at  all)  of  his  own  pleasure 
and  not  of  his  son's  interests;  for  Ranny,  if  he  had 
been  consulted,  would  probably  have  preferred  to 
owe  his  existence  to  some  other  parent. 

And  even  in  his  last  act,  his  dying,  in  his  choice 
of  that  hour,  of  all  hours  open  to  him  to  die  in,  Mr. 
Ransome  had  inflicted  an  incurable  injury  upon  his 
son.  He  had  timed  it  to  a  minute.  And  Ranny 
knew  it.  He  had  had  the  idea  firmly  fixed  in  his 
head  that  if  he  did  not  go  to  the  Polytechnic  and 

337 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

find  out  how  to  set  about  filing  his  petition  that  Wed- 
nesday night,  he  would  never  get  his  divorce.  Things 
would  happen,  they  were  bound  to  happen  if  he  gave 
them  time. 

And  yet  that  death,  so  ill-timed,  so  disastrous  for 
Ranny  in  its  consequences,  Ranny  mourned  as  if  it 
had  been  in  itself  an  affliction,  an  irreparable  loss. 
He  felt  with  the  most  entire  sincerity  that  now  that 
the  Humming-bird  was  dead  he  would  never  be 
happy  again. 

On  the  Sunday  after  the  funeral,  which  was  on 
the  Saturday,  he  sat  in  the  front  parlor  with  his 
mother  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randall,  listening  with 
a  dumb  but  poignant  acquiescence  to  all  that  they 
were  saying  about  his  father.  Their  idea  now  was 
that  Mr.  Ransome  was  not  only  a  good  man,  a  man 
of  indissoluble  integrity,  but  a  man  of  unimaginably 
profound  emotions,  of  passionate  affections  con- 
cealed under  the  appearance  of  austerity. 

"No  one  knows,"  Mrs.  Ransome  was  saying, 
"what  'E  was  thinking  and  what  'E  was  feeling — 
what  went  on  inside  him  no  one  ever  knew.  For 
all  he  said  about  it  you'd  have  thought  he  didn't 
take  much  notice  of  what  happened — Ranny 's 
trouble — and  yet  I  know  he  felt  it  something  awful. 
It  preyed  on  'is  mind,  poor  Ranny  being  left  like 
that.  Why,  it  was  after  that,  if  you  remember, 
that  he  began  to  break  up.  I  put  all  his  illness  down 
to  that. 

"And  then  the  children — you  might  say  he  didn't 
take  much  notice  of  them,  but  'E  was  thinking  about 
them  all  the  time,  you  may  depend  upon  it.  'E 
sent  for  them  the  Sunday  before  he  died.  I'm  glad 
he  did,  too.     Aren't  you,  Ranny?" 

338 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Yes,  Mother,"  Ranny  said,  and  choked. 

"It  '11  be  something  for  them  to  remember  him 
by  when  they  grow  up.  But  they'll  never  know 
what  was  in  his  heart.  None  of  us  ever  knew  nor 
ever  will  know,  now." 

"He  was  a  good  man,  Emmy,  and  a  kind  man — 
and  just.  I  never  knew  any  one  more  just  than 
FuUeymore.  We  were  saying  so  only  last  night, 
weren't  we?" 

"Yes,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Randall.  "We  were  say- 
ing you  could  always  depend  upon  his  word.  And, 
as  you  say,  there  were  things  in  him  we  never  knew 
— and  never  shall  know." 

And  so  it  went  on,  with  tearful  breaks  and  long, 
oppressive  silences,  until  some  one  would  think  of 
some  as  yet  unmentioned  quaHty  of  Mr.  Ransome's. 
Every  now  and  then,  in  the  silences,  one  of  them 
would  be  visited  by  some  involuntary  memory  of 
his  unpleasantness  and  of  the  furtive  vice  that  had 
destroyed  him,  and  would  thrust  the  thought  back 
with  horror,  as  outrageous,  indecent,  and  impossible. 
They  all  spoke  in  voices  of  profound  emotion  and 
with  absolute,  unfaltering  conviction. 

"We  shall  never  know  what  was  in  him."  Always 
they  came  back  to  that,  they  dwelt  on  it,  they  clung 
to  it.  Under  all  the  innocence  and  the  delusion  it 
was  as  if,  through  their  grief,  they  touched  reality, 
they  felt  the  unaltered,  unapparent  splendor,  and 
testified  to  the  mystery,  to  the  ultimate  and  secret 
sanctity  of  man's  soul. 


Of  all  that   Ransome  was  aware  obscurely,   he 
shared  their  sense  of  that  hidden  and  incalculable 

339 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

and  enduring  life.  But  his  own  grief  was  different 
from  theirs.  It  was  something  unique,  peculiar  to 
himself  and  incommunicable. 

Even  he  had  not  realized  what  was  at  the  bottom 
of  his  grief  until  he  found  himself  alone  with  it, 
walking  with  it  on  the  road  to  Southfields.  He  had 
left  the  Randalls  with  his  mother  and  had  escaped, 
with  an  irritable  longing  for  the  darkness  and  the 
open  air.  He  knew  that  the  reason  why  he  wanted 
to  get  away  from  them  was  that  his  grief  was  so 
different  from  theirs. 

For  they  were  innocent;  they  had  nothing  to  re- 
proach themselves  with.  If  they  had  not  loved  his 
father  quite  so  much  as  they  thought  they  did,  they 
had  done  the  next  best  thing;  they  had  never  let 
him  know  it.  They  had  behaved  to  him,  they  had 
thought  of  him,  in  consequence,  more  kindly,  more 
tenderly  than  if  they  had  loved  him;  in  which  case 
they  would  not  have  felt  the  same  obligation  to  be 
careful.     They  had  never  hurt  him.     Whereas  he — 

That  was  why  he  would  give  anything  to  have  his 
father  back  again.  It  was  all  right  for  them.  He 
couldn't  think  what  they  were  making  such  a  fuss 
about.  They  had  carried  their  behavior  to  such  a 
pitch  of  perfection  that  they  could  perfectly  well 
afford  to  let  him  go.  There  was  no  reason  why  they 
should  want  him  back  again,  to  show  him — 

All  this  Ranny  felt  obscurely.  And  the  more  he 
thought  about  it  the  more  it  seemed  to  him  horrible 
that  anybody  should  have  lived  as  his  father  had 
lived  and  die  as  he  had  died,  without  anybody  having 
really  loved  him.  It  was  horrible  that  he,  Ranny, 
should  not  have  loved  him.  For  that  was  what  it 
came  to;    that  was  what  he  knew  about  himself; 

340 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

that  and  nothing  else  was  at  the  bottom  of  his  grief, 
and  it  was  what  made  it  so  different  from  theirs. 
It  was  as  if  he  reaHzed  for  the  first  time  in  his  Hfe 
what  pity  was.  He  had  never  known  what  a  terrible, 
what  an  intolerable  thing  was  this  feeling  that  was 
so  like  love,  that  should  have  been  love  and  yet  was 
not.  For  he  didn't  deceive  himself  about  it  as  his 
mother  (mercifully  for  her)  was  deceiving  herself 
at  this  moment.  This  intolerable  and  terrible  feel- 
ing was  not  love.  In  love  there  would  have  been 
some  happiness. 

Walking  slowly,  thinking  these  things,  or  rather 
feeling  them,  vaguely  and  incoherently,  he  had  come 
to  the  grove  by  the  public  footpath.  It  was  there 
that  he  had  sat  with  his  mother  more  than  six  years 
ago,  when  she  had  as  good  as  confessed  to  him  that 
she  had  not  loved  her  husband ;  not,  that  was  to  say, 
as  she  had  loved  her  child. 

And  it  was  there,  only  the  other  night,  that  he 
had  sat  with  Winny.  One  time  seemed  as  long  ago 
as  the  other. 

And  it  was  there  that  Winny  was  sitting  now,  on 
their  seat,  alone,  facing  the  way  he  came,  as  if 
positively  she  had  known  that  he  would  come. 

He  realized  then  that  is  was  Winny  that  he  wanted, 
and  that  the  grief  he  found  so  terrible  and  intoler- 
able was  driving  him  to  her,  though  when  he  started 
he  had  not  meant  to  go  to  her,  he  had  not  known 
that  he  would  go. 

She  rose  when  she  saw  him  and  came  forward. 

"Ranny!     Were  you  coming  to  me?" 

"Yes."  (He  knew  it  now.)  "Let's  stay  here  a 
bit.     I've  left  Uncle  and  Aunt  with  Mother." 

"How  is  she?" 

341 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Oh — well,  it's  pretty  awful  for  her." 

"It  must  be." 

He  was  sitting  near  her  but  a  little  apart,  staring 
at  the  lamp-lit  road.  She  felt  him  utterly  removed 
from  her.     Yet  he  was  there.     He  had  come  to  her. 

"I  don't  think,"  he  said,  presently,  "Mother '11 
ever  be  happy  again.     I  sha'n't,  either." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  hand  that  lay  palm  down- 
ward between  them  on  the  seat  and  that  was  stretched 
toward  her,  not  as  if  it  sought  her  consciously,  but 
in  utter  helplessness.  There  was  no  response  in  it 
beyond  a  nervous  quivering  that  struck  through  her 
fingers  to  her  heart. 

He  went  on.  "It's  not  as  if  he  had  been  happy. 
He  wasn't.     Couldn't  have  been." 

She  fell  to  stroking  gently  that  hand  under  her 
own.     Its  nervous  quivering  ceased. 

"You  know  that  funny  way  he  had — the  way  he 
used  to  go  poppin'  in  and  out  as  if  he  was  lookin'  for 
somebody?  That's  what  I  can't  bear  to  think  of. 
Like  as  if  he'd  wanted  something  badly  and  wouldn't 
let  on  to  anybody  about  it.  Nobody  knew  what  was 
going  on  inside  him  all  these  years.  That's  the  hor- 
rible thing.  We  ought  to  have  known  and  we  didn't. 
There  he  was,  poppin'  in  and  out,  and  he  might  have 
been  a  mile  off  for  all  we  could  get  at  him.  We 
didn't  know  anything  about  him — not  reelly." 

He  mused. 

"That's  it.  We  don't  know  anything  about  any- 
body— ever.  I  didn't  know  anything  about  Virelet 
— don't  know  now.  I  never  shall  know.  Come  to 
that,  I  don't  know  anything  about  you.  Nor  you 
about  me — reelly." 

"Oh,   Ranny,"  she  whispered.     It  was  her  one 

342 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

protest  against  the  agony  he  was  making  her  share 
with  him. 

"What  do  we  know  about  anything?  What  does 
it  all  mean?  The  whole  bloomin'  show?  The  Com- 
bined Maze?  They  shove  us  into  it  without  our 
leave.  They  make  us  do  things  we  don't  want  to 
do  and  never  meant  to  do.  I  didn't  want  to  care  for 
Virelet.  I  wanted  to  care  for  you.  I  didn't  want 
to  marry  her,  nor  she  me.  I  didn't  mean  to.  I 
meant  to  marry  you.  But  I  did  care  for  her,  and  I 
did  marry  her.  I  don't  suppose  he  wanted  to  do 
like  he  did  or  ever  meant  to.  And  look  how  he  was 
treated — shoved  in — livin'  his  horrible  little  life  down 
there — doin'  the  things  he  didn't  mean — lookin'  for 
things  he  never  got — and  then  shunted  like  this,  all 
anyhow,  God  knows  where — before  he  could  put  a 
hand  on  anything.     There's  no  sense  in  it. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  so  much  if  I'd  only  cared  for 
him.  But  I  didn't.  I  wanted  to — I  meant  to — but 
I  didn't.  There  you  are  again.  It's  all  like  that 
and  there's  no  sense  in  it." 

"But  you  did  care.  Ran,  dear.  You're  caring 
now.  You  couldn't  talk  like  this  about  him  if  you 
didn't  care." 

"No.  I'm  talkin'  like  this — because  I  didn't  care. 
Not  a  rap.  My  God!  If  I  thought  Stanny  would 
ever  feel  to  me  as  I  felt  to  my  father,  I'd  go  and  kill 
myself." 

"But  he  won't,  dear.  You  haven't  behaved  to 
him  like  your  father  behaved  to  you,"  said  Winny, 
calmly. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  At  any  rate,  you  will 
know  presently  when  you  can  look  at  it  as  it  reelly 

343 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

is.  Nobody  could  have  done  more  for  your  father 
than  you  did.  If  he'd  been  the  best  father  in  the 
world  you  couldn't  have  done  more." 

"Doin'  things  is  nothing.  Besides,  I  didn't. 
D'you  know,  I  wouldn't  go  into  his  business  when  he 
wanted  me  to?  I  wouldn't  do  it,  just  because  I 
couldn't  bear  bein'  with  him  all  the  time.  And  he 
knew  it." 

"I  don't  care  if  he  did  know  it,  Ranny.  You'd  a 
perfect  right  to  live  your  own  life.  You'd  a  right  to 
choose  what  you'd  do  and  where  you'd  be.  As  it 
was,  you  never  had  any  life  of  your  own  where  your 
father  was  about.  I  can  remember  how  it  was,  dear, 
if  you  don't.  If  you'd  given  in  because  he  wanted 
you  to;  if  you'd  been  boxed  up  with  him  down  there 
from  morning  till  night,  you'd  never  have  had  any 
life  at  all.  Not  as  much  as  that!  And  then,  instead 
of  caring  for  him  as  you  did,  you'd  have  got  to  hate 
him,  and  then  he'd  have  hated  you;  and  your  mother 
would  have  been  torn  between  you.  That's  how  it 
would  have  been,  and  you  knew  it.  Else  you'd  never 
have  left  him." 

"I  say — ^fancy  your  knowin'  all  that!" 

"Of  course  I  know  it.     I  knew  it  all  the  time."   : 

"Who  told  you?" 

"You  don't  have  to  be  told  things  like  that, 
Ranny." 

The  hand  she  was  stroking  moved  from  under  her 
hand  and  caught  it  and  grasped  it  tight. 

"Didn't  I  always  know  you  were  a  dear?"  she 
went  on.  "You  said  I  didn't  know  anything  about 
you.     But  I  knew  that  much." 

"Yes — but — how  did  you  know  I  cared  for  him?" 

"Oh,    why — ^because — you   couldn't   have   called 

344 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

him  the  Humming-bird  and  all  those  funny  names 
you  did  if  you  hadn't  cared.  And,  of  course,  he 
knew  that  too.  That's  what  he  wouldn't  let  on, 
dear — the  lot  he  knew.  It  must  have  made  him 
feel  so  nice  and  comfortable  inside  him  to  know  that 
whatever  he  was  to  do  you'd  go  on  calling  him  a 
Humming-bird. ' ' 

"D'you  think  it  did— reelly?" 

"Why — don't  you  remember  how  it  used  to  make 
your  mother  smile?     Well,  then." 

Well,  then,  she  seemed  to  say,  it  was  all  right. 

That  was  how  she  brought  him  round,  to  sanity 
when  he  thought  his  brain  was  going  and  to  happi- 
ness when  he  felt  it  so  improbable,  not  to  say  im- 
possible, that  he  should  ever  be  happy  again. 


A  fortnight  passed. 

In  the  three  days  following  the  death  he  had  not 
thought  once  about  his  ow^n  concerns.  He  simply 
hadn't  time  to  think  of  them.  Every  minute  he 
could  spare  was  taken  up  with  the  arrangements  for 
his  father's  funeral.  Sunday  had  been  given  over 
to  moiuTiing  and  remorse.  It  was  Monday  morning 
and  the  weeks  following  it  that  brought  back  the 
thought  of  his  divorce.  They  brought  it  back,  first, 
in  all  its  urgency,  as  a  thing  vehemently  and  terribly 
desired,  then  as  a  thing,  urgent  indeed,  but  private 
and  personal  and,  therefore,  of  secondary  impor- 
tance, a  thing  that  must  perforce  stand  over  until 
the  settlement  of  his  father's  affairs,  till  finally 
(emerging  from  the  inextricable  tangle  in  which  it 
had  become  involved)  it  presented  itself  as  it  was, 
a  thing  hopeless  and  unattainable. 

345 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

His  father's  affairs  were  worse  than  anything  he 
had  beHeved.  For,  except  for  that  terror  bom  of 
his  own  private  superstition,  he  had  not  really  looked 
forward  to  disaster  on  an  overwhelming  scale.  .  .  .  He 
had  imagined  his  father's  business  as  surviving  him 
only  for  a  little  while,  and  his  father's  debts  as 
entailing  perhaps  strict  economy  for  years.  But 
for  the  actual  figures  he  was  not  prepared. 

And  how  his  father,  limited  as  he  was  in  his  re- 
sources and  destitute,  you  would  have  thought,  of 
all  opportunity  for  wild  expenditure,  how  he  could 
have  contrived  to  owe  the  amount  he  did  owe 
passed  Ranny's  understanding. 

Into  that  pit  of  insolvency  there  went  all  that  was 
fetched  by  the  sale  of  the  stock  and  the  goodwill 
of  the  business  and  all  that  Mrs.  Ransome  had  put 
into  the  business,  including  what  she  had  saved 
out  of  her  tiny  income.  As  for  Ranny's  savings 
and  the  sum  he  had  borrowed — the  whole  thirty 
pounds — they  went  to  pay  for  the  funeral  and  the 
grave  and  the  monumental  stone. 

There  could  be  no  divorce.  Divorce  was  not  to 
be  thought  of  for  more  than  two  years,  when  he 
would  have  got  his  rise. 

He  broke  the  news  to  Winny,  sitting  with  her  in 
their  little  halfway  grove,  the  place  consecrated  to 
Ranny's  confidences. 

"I  can't  do  different,"  he  said,  summing  it  all  up. 

"Of  course,  you  can't.  Never  mind,  dear.  Let's 
go  on  as  we  are." 

It  was  what  Violet  had  said  to  him,  but  with  how 
different  a  meaning! 

"But  Winky — it  means  waiting  years.  It  '11  be 
more  than  two  before  I  can  get  a  divorce — and  we 

346 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

can't  marry  till  six  months  after.  That's  three  years. 
I  can't  bear  to  ask  you  to  wait  so  long." 

"Don't  worry  about  me.     I'm  quite  happy." 

"You  don't  know  how  much  happier  you  would 
be.     Me  too." 

She  pressed  her  face  against  his  shoulder. 

"I  don't  think  I  could  be  any  happier  than  I  am." 

"You  don't  know,"  he  repeated.  "You  don't 
know  anything  at  all." 

"I  know  I  love  you  and  you  me,  and  that's 
enough." 

"Oh— ^5  it?" 

"It's  the  great  thing." 

"Winny,  d'you  know,  that  if  poor  Father  hadn't 
died  when  he  did — we  missed  it  by  a  day.  To  think 
it  could  happen  like  that!" 

He  clinched  it  with,  "This  Combined  Maze  has 
been  a  bit  too  much  for  you  and  me." 

23 


M^ 


CHAPTER  XXX 

RS.  RANSOME  for  the  first  time  in  her  life 
was  thinking.  She  called  it  thinking,  although 
that  was  no  word  for  it,  for  its  richness,  its  amplitude, 
its  peculiar  secret  certainty.  You  might  say  that  for 
the  first  time  in  her  Hfe  Mrs.  Ransome  was  fully 
conscious;  that,  with  an  extraordinary  vividness  and 
clarity  she  saw  things,  not  as  she  believed  and  de- 
sired them  to  be,  but  as  they  were. 

She  saw,  for  the  first  time  since  Mr.  Ransome's 
death,  that  she  was  happy;  or  rather,  that  she  had 
been  happy  for  more  than  two  years,  that  is  to  say, 
ever  since  Mr.  Ransome's  death.  And  this  vision 
of  her  happiness,  of  her  iniquitous  and  disgraceful 
satisfaction,  was  shocking  to  Mrs.  Ransome.  She 
would  have  preferred  to  think  that  ever  since  Mr. 
Ransome's  death  she  had  been  heartbroken. 

But  it  was  not  so.  Never  in  all  her  life  had  she 
been  so  at  peace;  never  since  her  girlhood  had  she 
been  so  gay.  This  state  of  hers  had  lasted  exactly 
two  years  and  four  months,  thus  clearly  dating  from 
her  bereavement.  For  it  was  in  May  of  nineteen- 
ten  that  he  had  died,  and  she  was  now  in  September 
nineteen- twelve . 

She  might  not  have  been  aware  of  it  but  that  it, 
her  happiness,  had  only  six  months  more  to  run. 

For  two  years  and  four  months  she  had  had  her 
son  Ranny  to  herself.     She  had  been  the  mistress 

348 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

of  his  house,  the  little  house  that  she  loved,  and  the 
mother  of  his  children  whom  (next  to  her  son  Ranny) 
she  adored.  For  two  years  and  four  months  she 
had  made  him  comfortable  with  a  comfort  he  had 
never  dreamed  of,  which  most  certainly  he  had  never 
known.  With  tenderness  and  care  and  vigilance  un- 
abridged and  unremitted,  she  had  brought  Gran- 
ville and  Stanley  and  Dossie  to  perfection.  It  had 
not  been  so  hard.  Stanley  and  Dossie  she  had  found 
almost  perfect  from  the  first,  more  perfect  than 
Ranny  she  had  found  them,  because  they  were  not 
so  near  to  her  own  flesh,  and  not  loved  so  passion- 
ately as  he. 

And  Granville,  once  far  from  perfect,  had  re- 
sponded to  treatment  like  a  living  thing.  Maudie 
and  Fred  Booty  had  cherished  it,  they  handed  it  on 
to  Mrs.  Ransome  spotless  and  intact.  Spotless  and 
intact  she  had  kept  it.  Spotless  and  intact  no  doubt 
it  would  be  kept  when,  in  six  months'  time,  she  in 
turn  would  hand  it  over  to  Winny  Dymond,  to 
Ranny's  second  wife. 

He  had  only  just  told  her. 

That  was  what  hurt  her  most,  that  she  had  only 
just  been  told,  when  for  more  than  two  years  he  had 
been  thinking  of  it.  It  was  no  use  saying  that  he 
couldn't  have  told  her  before,  because  he  wasn't 
free.  He  wasn't  free  now;  not  properly,  like  a 
widower. 

That  he  would,  after  all,  get  rid  of  poor  Violet, 
who  hadn't,  in  all  those  years,  troubled  him  or  done 
him  any  harm,  that  had  been  a  blow  to  her.  She 
hadn't  believed  it  possible.  She  had  thought  the 
question  of  divorce  had  been  settled  once  for  all,  five 
years  ago,  by  his  Uncle  Randall.     And  John  Randall 

349 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

in  the  meanwhile  had  justified  his  claim  to  be  heard, 
and  his  right  to  settle  things.  He  had  canceled 
the  debt  that  poor  Fulleymore  had  owed  him.  To 
be  sure,  he  could  afford  it.  He  was  more  prosperous 
and  prominent  than  ever.  He  was,  therefore,  less 
than  ever  likely  to  approve  of  the  divorce. 

If  the  idea  of  divorce  had  been  appalling  five  years 
ago,  it  was  still  more  appalling  now.  Since,  after 
all,  poor  Violet  had  removed  herself  so  far  and  kept 
so  quiet,  the  scandal  of  her  original  disappearance 
had  somehow  diminished  with  every  year,  while, 
proportionately,  with  every  year,  the  scandal,  the 
indecency,  the  horror  of  the  Divorce  Court  had  in- 
creased, until  now  it  seemed  to  be  a  monstrous 
thing. 

And  that  Ranny  should  have  chosen  this  time  of 
all  times!  When  they'd  paid  off  all  the  creditors 
and  got  clear,  and  stood  respected  and  respectable 
again.  As  if  his  poor  father's  insolvency,  which, 
after  all,  he  couldn't  help  (since  it  was  the  Drug 
Stores  that  had  ruined  him),  as  if  that  wasn't  enough 
disgrace  for  one  family,  he  must  needs  go  and  rake 
up  all  that  awful  shame  and  trouble,  after  all  these 
years,  when  everybody  had  forgotten  that  there  had 
been  any  trouble  and  any  shame. 

That  was  what  Mrs.  Ransome  found  so  hard  to 
bear.  And  that  she  had  been  deceived;  that  he 
should  have  let  her  go  on  thinking  that  it  wasn't 
possible,  up  to  the  last  minute  (it  was  Saturday  and 
he  was  going  to  the  lawyer  on  Monday) ,  she  who  had 
the  first  right  to  be  told. 

All  these  years  he  had  deceived  her.  All  these 
years  he  had  meant  to  do  it  the  very  minute  he  had 
got  his  rise. 

350 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

For  Ransome  had  attained  the  summit  of  his 
ambition.  He  was  now  a  petty  cashier  with  a  pen 
all  to  himself  at  the  top  of  the  counting-house,  and 
an  income  of  two  hundred  a  year.  Short  of  making 
him  assistant  secretary  (which  was  ridiculous)  Wool- 
ridge's  could  do  no  more  for  him. 

And  Winny  Dymond  (Mrs.  Ransome  reflected  bit- 
terly), though  he  hadn't  been  free  to  speak  to  her, 
though  he  was  practically  (it  didn't  occur  to  Mrs. 
Ransome  that  what  she  meant  was  theoretically)  a 
married  man,  Winny  had  known  it  all  the  time. 

It  was  extraordinary,  but  Mrs.  Ransome,  who  was 
really  fond  of  Winny,  felt  toward  her  more  acute 
and  concentrated  bitterness  than  she  had  felt  toward 
Violet,  whom  she  hated.  She  was  able  to  think  of 
Ranny's  first  wife  as  poor  Violet,  though  Violet  had 
made  him  miserable  and  destroyed  his  home  and  had 
left  him  and  his  children.  And  the  thought  of  his 
marrying  Winny  Dymond  was  intolerable  to  Mrs. 
Ransome,  though  she  had  recognized  her  as  the  one 
woman  Ranny  ought  to  have  married,  the  one  woman 
worthy  of  him,  and  she  would  have  continued  to  wel- 
come her  in  that  capacity  as  long  as  Ranny  had  re- 
frained from  marrying  her. 

For  Ranny's  mother  knew  that  in  Violet  her 
motherhood  had  had  no  rival.  Violet's  passion  for 
Ranny,  Ranny's  passion  for  Violet,  had  not  robbed 
her  of  her  son.  Violet,  not  having  in  her  one  atom 
of  natural  feeling,  and  caring  only  for  her  husband's 
manhood  and  his  physical  perfection,  had  left  to 
Mrs.  Ransome  all  that  was  most  dear  to  her  in 
Ranny.  Married  to  Violet,  he  was  still  dependent 
on  his  mother.  He  clung  to  her,  he  deferred  to  her 
judgment,  he  came  to  her  for  comfort.     If  he  had 

351 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

been  ill  it  was  she  and  not  Violet  who  would  have 
nursed  him.  Whereas  Winny  would  take  all  that 
away  from  her.  She  would  take — she  could  not  help 
taking — Ranny  utterly  away;  not  from  malice,  not 
from  selfishness,  not  because  she  wanted  to  take  him, 
but  because  she  could  not  help  it.  She  was  so  made 
as  to  be  aU  in  all  to  him,  so  made  as  to  draw  him 
to  her  all  in  all.  There  would  be  absolutely  nothing 
of  Ranny  left  over  for  his  mother,  except  the  affec- 
tion he  had  always  felt  for  her,  which,  for  a  woman 
of  Mrs.  Ransome's  temperament,  was  the  least 
thing  that  she  claimed.  Her  instinct  had  divined 
Winny  infalhbly,  not  only  as  a  wife  to  Ranny,  but 
as  a  mother.  A  mother  Winny  was  and  would  be 
to  him  far  more  than  if  she  had  used  her  womanhood 
to  bear  him  children. 

So  that,  without  the  smallest  preparation,  she  saw 
herself  required  at  six  months'  notice  to  give  up  her 
son.  And  while  she  blamed  him  for  not  having  told 
her,  she  overlooked  the  fact  that  if  she  had  been  told 
she  could  not  have  borne  the  knowledge.  It  would 
have  poisoned  for  her  every  day  of  the  eight  himdred 
and  forty-five  days  for  which  in  her  ignorance  she 
had  been  so  happy. 

She  did  not  attempt  to  deny  that  she  had  been 
happy.  But  what  she  had  said  to  Ranny  when  he 
told  her  was,  "It's  a  mercy  your  poor  father  doesn't 
know." 

And  in  that  moment  she  thought  of  her  happiness 
with  a  sharp  pang  as  if  it  had  been  unfaithfulness  to 
her  dead  husband. 

It  was  at  half  past  seven  on  a  Saturday  evening 
in  the  last  week  of  September,  nineteen-twelve,  that 
Mrs.  Randall  sat  alone  in  the  back  sitting-room 

352 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

at   Granville   and    meditated    miserably    on    those 
things. 

Upstairs  in  his  bedroom  overhead  she  could  hear 
Ranny  moving  very  softly,  for  fear  of  waking 
Stanley.  She  knew  what  he  was  doing.  He  was 
changing,  making  himself  smart  enough  to  take 
Winny  Dymond  to  the  Earl's  Court  Exhibition. 


Upstairs  in  his  bedroom  overhead,  Ranny  moved 
very  softly,  for  fear  of  waking  Stanley.  He  was 
changing  into  a  new  gray  suit,  making  himself  more 
smart  than  he  had  been  for  years  to  take  Winny 
to  the  Earl's  Court  Exhibition. 

In  that  shirt,  glistening,  high-collared,  in  a  gray- 
blue  tie,  in  gray-blue  socks  and  brown  boots,  Ranny 
looked  very  smart  indeed.  And  the  suit,  the  suit 
looked  splendid,  the  fold  down  the  legs  of  the 
trousers  being  as  yet  unimpaired. 

And  Ranny  looked  young,  ever  so  young  still, 
though  he  was  thirty-two.  The  faint  lines  at  the 
comer  of  his  eyes  and  of  his  mouth  accentuated  agree- 
ably their  upward  tilt.  He  had  gained  distinction 
by  the  increasing  firmness  of  his  face.  Virile  in  its 
adolescence,  it  had  kept  its  youth  in  its  maturity. 
Ranny 's  face  expressed  him.  It  was  fine  and  clean; 
it  had  not  one  mean  or  faltering  line  in  it.  And  his 
figure  had  not,  after  all,  deteriorated.  Flabbiness 
was  as  far  from  him  as  it  had  been  in  his  youth. 

With  infinite  precautions,  Ranny  opened  a  drawer 
where  he  foimd  a  small  japanned  tin  box,  very  new. 
This  he  unlocked  softly,  and  from  a  little  canvas 
bag  that  lay  in  the  compartment  specially  reserved 
for  it  he  took  a  sovereign,  one  of  four,  that  repre- 

353 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

sented  rather  more  than  a  week's  proportion  of  his 
new  salary. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  that  when  the  day  came 
he  would  spend  no  less  a  sum.  So  great  a  rise  could 
not  be  celebrated  on  less.  If  a  cashier  of  Wool- 
ridge's  could  have  been  capable  of  saving,  say,  one 
and  ninepence  out  of  that  sovereign,  the  man  who 
was  engaged  to  Winny  Dymond  would  have  died 
rather. 

Of  course,  it  was  a  thundering  lot  to  spend.  But 
then  Ranny  desired,  he  was  determined  to  spend  a 
thundering  lot.  It  was  extravagant,  but  he  wished 
to  be  extravagant.  It  was  reckless,  irresponsible, 
but  reckless  and  irresponsible  was  what  he  felt.  He 
meant  to  go  it.  He  meant  to  have  his  fling  just  for 
once.  And  he  meant  that  Winny,  who  had  never 
had  hers,  nor  any  vshare  in  anybody  else's,  should 
taste,  just  for  once,  the  raptiure  of  a  fling.  She  should 
have  it  for  three  solid  hours  of  that  delicious  night, 
in  one  mad,  flaming,  stupendous  orgy  at  the  Earl's 
Court  Exhibition. 

For  it  wasn't  really  his  rise  that  called  for  it. 
That  was  only  a  means  to  his  divorce  and  marriage. 
It  was  his  engagement  that  he  proposed  to  celebrate. 

The  engagement,  though  he  could  hardly  believe 
it,  was  a  fact.  True,  it  could  not  be  made  public 
until  a  decent  interval  after  the  divorce;  but  it  had 
been  acknowledged  and  settled  between  him  and 
Winny  as  soon  as  ever  he  knew  that  he  had  got  his 
rise.  They  would  never  celebrate  it  at  all  if  they 
didn't  celebrate  it  now  before  all  the  beastliness 
began. 

For  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  it  would  be  beastly. 
Winny  would  feel  it  even  more  than  he  did.     She 

354 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

would  feel  it  for  him.  Things  that  they  had  both 
forgotten  would  be  raked  up  again,  all  the  misery 
and  all  the  shame.  Now  that  it  was  imminent  he 
dreaded  the  Divorce  Court.  His  Uncle  Randall 
could  not  have  shrimk  more  painfully  from  this 
public  washing  of  his  dirty  hnen.  He  would  come 
out  of  the  Great  Washhouse  feeling  almost,  but  not 
quite  as  imclean  as  if  his  linen  had  been  kept  at 
home  and  never  washed  at  all. 

And  the  trail  of  all  that  nastiness  would  spread 
over  the  six  months  of  their  engagement;  it  would 
poison  everything. 

He  didn't  mean  to  think  about  it  or  let  Winny 
think.  They  were  going  to  enjoy  themselves  to- 
night while  they  could,  while  they  still  felt  innocent 
and  clean  and  jolly. 


He  stooped  for  a  moment  over  the  crib  where  his 
little  son  lay  curled  and  snugghng,  his  face  hidden, 
his  head,  with  its  crop  of  dark  hair,  showing  like  the 
fur  of  some  soft  burrowing  animal.  He  freed  the 
little  mouth  muffled  in  bedclothes,  and  tucked  the 
blankets  closer.  He  picked  up  Stanny's  Teddy  bear 
that  had  fallen  lamentably  to  the  floor,  and  laid  it 
where  Stanny  would  find  it  beside  him  when  he  woke. 

Treading  softly,  he  went  into  the  next  room  where 
Dossie  lay  in  her  own  little  bed  beside  his  mother's, 
her  little  seven-year-old  girl  body  stretched  out  in 
all  its  dainty  slenderness  (so  unlike  Stanny's.  He 
saw  with  a  pang  of  sudden  passion  the  sweet  differ- 
ence). Her  face,  laid  sideways  in  her  golden-brown 
hair,  showed  already  a  fine  edge,  nose,  and  mouth 
and  chin  turned  subtly,  and  carved  out  of  their  baby 

355 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

softness  to  the  likeness  of  his  own.  He  stooped  and 
kissed  Dossie's  hair,  and  took  without  touching  the 
sweetness  of  her  mouth.  Then  he  ran  softly  down 
the  stairs. 

His  mother  heard  him  running  and  came  to  the 
door  of  the  room.  "You're  not  going  out  like  that," 
she  said,  "without  an  overcoat?  It  '11  rain  before 
you're  back,  I  know,  and  that  new  suit  '11  be  ruined." 

"Rot!  It  can't  rain  on  a  night  like  this.  Good 
night.  Mother.  Don't  go  sittin'  up.  I  don't  know 
when  I'll  be  in." 

"I'll  hot  some  cocoa  for  you  last  thing  and  leave 
it  on  the  trivet." 

"Sha'n't  want  cocoa." 

"What  shall  you  want  then?" 

"Oh,  Lord!"  His  nerves  were  all  on  edge.  He 
couldn't  bear  it.  "Nothing!"  he  cried,  as  he  rushed 
out. 

At  the  gate  it  struck  him  that  he  had  been  a  brute 
to  her.  He  turned.  He  rushed  back  to  her.  He 
put  his  arm  round  her  and  kissed  her. 

"You're  all  right  now,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,   Ran,   dear,    I'm  all   right."     She   smiled. 
"Run  away  and  don't  keep  Winny  waiting." 
i     (Heaven  only  knew  what  it  cost  her.) 

And  Ranny  looked  back,  laughing,  through  the 
doorway.  "You  know.  Mother,  it  reelly  is  all 
right.     And  you're  an  angel." 

And  she  said,  "There!    Go  along  with  you." 

He  went. 


"Ranny,  how  nice  you  look!" 
Winny  herself  was  looking  nice  and  knew  it.     She 

356 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

wore  a  green  cotton  gown  trimmed  with  white  pipings, 
and  a  thing  she  called  a  Peggy  hat  that  was  half  a 
bell  and  half  a  bonnet  and  had  diminutive  roses 
sewn  on  it  here  and  there  like  buttons. 

They  were  going  down  the  long  entrance  to  the 
Exhibition,  between  painted  walls,  in  brilliant  il- 
lumination, and  in  publicity  that  might  have  been 
trying  if  they  had  had  eyes  for  anything  except  each 
other. 

Winny's  eyes  were  brimming  with  joy  and  tender- 
ness as  she  looked  at  him.  If  she  loved  the  new 
gray  suit,  the  brown  boots,  and  the  Trilby  hat,  she 
did  not  love  them  more  than  the  shabby  blue  serge 
with  the  place  she  knew  in  the  lining  where  she  had 
mended  it.  All  the  same,  it  was  impossible  to  see  him 
in  such  things  without  that  little  breathless  thrill  of 
wonder  and  excitement.  There  wasn't  one  man  at 
Earl's  Court  that  night  who  could  compare  with 
Ranny.  He  made  them  all  look  weedy,  flabby; 
pitiful,  uninteresting  things. 

And  then,  all  of  a  sudden  (they  were  at  the  pay- 
gate),  as  she  looked,  astonishment,  grief,  and 
anxiety  appeared  on  Winny's  face.  Something  had 
dismayed  her  tenderness,  dashed  her  joy.  She  had 
seen  Ranny  take  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket  gold — 
not  ten  shillings,  but  a  whole  sovereign.  And  a 
dreadful  fear  awoke  in  her. 

He  was  going  to  spend  it  all. 

She  knew  it,  something  told  her;  she  could  see  by 
the  way  he  smacked  it  down,  careless  like.  And 
Winny  couldn't  bear  it ;  she  couldn't  bear  to  think 
that  Ranny,  who  had  pinched  and  scraped  and  done 
without  things  for  years,  should  go  and  throw  away 
all  that  on  her! 

357 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

But  anybody  could  see  that  he  was  going  to  do  it, 
by  the  strange  excitement  and  abstraction  in  his 
eyes,  by  the  way  he  gathered  up  the  change  and 
took  Winny  by  the  arm  and  walked  off  with  her. 
His  eyes  and  the  close  crook  of  his  arm  drawing  her 
along  with  him  in  his  course,  the  sHght  leaning  of  his 
body  toward  hers  as  they  went,  his  stride  and  the 
set  of  his  head  proclaimed  that  he  had  got  her,  that 
she  couldn't  escape,  that  he  meant  to  go  it,  that  he 
had  the  right  to  spend  on  her  more  than  he  could 
possibly  afford. 

She  could  see  what  he  was  thinking.  In  one 
tremendous  burst  he  was  going  to  make  up  to  her 
now  for  all  that  she  had  missed.  What  was  more,  he 
was  going  to  rub  it  into  her  that  he  had  the  right 
to.  She  couldn't  reaHze  their  happiness  as  he  did. 
They  had  been  cheated  out  of  it  so  long  that  she 
couldn't  believe  in  it,  couldn't  beHeve  that  it  was 
actually  in  their  grasp,  the  shining,  palpitating  joy 
that  for  five  years  had  been  dangled  before  them  only 
to  be  jerked  out  of  their  hands.  He  wanted  to  make 
her  feel  it;  to  make  her  taste  and  touch  and  handle 
the  thing  that  seemed  impossible  and  yet  was  cer- 
tain. 

Ranny  was  intoxicated,  he  was  reckless  with  cer- 
tainty. 

And  Winny  couldn't  bear  it.  All  the  way  up 
between  the  painted  walls  she  was  trying  to  think 
what  she  could  do  to  prevent  his  spending  a  whole 
sovereign.  She  knew  that  it  was  no  use  fighting 
Ranny.  The  more  she  hung  on  to  him  to  stop  him, 
the  more  Ranny  would  struggle  and  break  loose. 
Persuasion  was  no  good.  The  more  she  reasoned, 
the  more  determined  he  would  be  to  spend  that 

358 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

sovereign,  and  the  more  ways  he  would  find  to 
spend  it. 

It  was  to  be  one  of  those  mortal  combats  between 
man's  will  and  woman's  wit.  Winny  meant  to  cir- 
cumvent Ranny  and  to  defeat  him  by  guile. 

And  at  first  it  looked  as  if  it  could  be  done  easily. 
For  at  first  the  Exhibition  seemed  to  be  on  Winny's 
side. 

They  had  emerged  from  between  the  painted 
walls  into  Shakespeare's  England,  into  the  narrow, 
crooked  streets  under  the  queer  old  overhanging 
houses  with  the  swinging  signs — hundreds  of  years 
old  Ranny  said  they  were.  And  in  the  streets  there 
were  strange  crowds,  young  men  and  young  women 
who  went  shouting  and  singing  and  were  marvelous- 
ly  and  fantastically  dressed.  And  they  had  glimpses 
through  lattice  windows  of  marvelous  and  fantastic 
merchandise.  Marvelous  and  fantastic  it  seemed 
to  Winny  at  first  sight.  But  when  she  saw  that  it 
was  just  what  they  were  selling  in  the  shops  to-day 
the  delicious  confusion  in  her  mind  heightened  the 
effect  of  fantasy  and  of  enchantment. 

'T  didn't  think  it  would  be  like  this,"  she  said. 

But  why  it  was  like  that  and  why  it  was  called 
Shakespeare's  England,  what  on  earth  Shakespeare 
had  to  do  with  it,  Winny  couldn't  think. 

' '  Shakespeare  ?  Why,  he  wrote  books,  didn't 
he?" 

"Plays,  Winky,  plays." 

"Plays  then." 

And  when  Ranny  told  her  that  it  meant  that 
England  was  like  this  in  Shakespeare's  time,  hundreds 
of  years  ago,  and  reminded  her  that  they  had  a  scene 
from  one  of  his  plays  on  at  the  Coliseum  the  other 

359 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

day,  Winny  thought  that  only  made  it  more  marvel- 
ous and  more  like  a  dream  than  ever. 

And  she  thought  Ranny  was  more  marvelous  than 
ever,  with  the  things  he  knew. 

And  then,  having  lured  him  into  this  tangled  side 
issue,  she  began,  as  cool  and  offhand  as  you  please. 
He  gave  her  the  opening  when  he  asked  her  what 
she'd  like  to  do  next. 

"This  is  good  enough  for  me,"  she  said. 

For  the  most  marvelous  thing  about  Shakespeare's 
England  was  that  you  could  walk  about  in  it  free 
of  charge. 

He  looked  at  her  almost  as  if  he  knew  what  she 
was  up  to. 

"But  you've  seen  it,  Winky.  You've  seen  all 
there  is  of  it.  You  don't  want  to  stay  here  all 
night,  do  you?" 

He  had  her  there,  with  his  reminder  of  the  hours 
they  had  to  put  in. 

"Well" — she  was  lingering  in  the  most  natural 
manner,  as  if  fascinated  by  the  exterior  of  the 
Globe  Theater.  For  she  wished  to  spin  out  the 
time. 

She  saw  Ranny's  hand  sliding  toward  his 
pocket. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  inside  it?"  he  said. 

"No,  Ranny,  dear,  I  wouldn't.  At  least,  I'd 
rather  not  if  you've  no  objection." 

She  spoke  firmly,  seriously,  as  if  she  knew  some- 
thing against  the  Globe  Theater,  as  if  the  Globe 
Theater  were  disreputable  or  improper. 

Then  (it  was  wonderful  how  she  contrived  the  lit- 
tle air  of  excited  inspiration),  "Tell  you  what," 
she  said,   "let's  go  and  sit  down  somewhere  and 

360 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

listen  to  the  band.     There's  nothing  I  love  so  much 
as  listening  to  a  band." 

She  knew  that  they  charged  nothing  for  listening 
to  the  band. 

It  was  a  prompting  from  the  Exhibition  itself, 
proving,  here  again,  that  it  was  on  her  side,  an  en- 
tirely friendly  and  benignant  power. 

"All  right,"  said  Ranny.  ''That's  in  the  Western 
Garden." 

He  took  her  by  the  arm  and  drew  her,  not  to  the 
Western  Garden,  but  to  a  street  (he  seemed  to  know 
it  by  instinct)  through  which  Shakespeare's  Eng- 
land, iniquitously,  treacherously,  led  them  to  their 
doom,  the  Water  Chute. 

For  there  the  Exhibition  threw  off  her  mask  and 
revealed  herself  as  the  dangerous  Enchantress  that 
she  was.  Hung  with  millions  of  electric  bulbs, 
crowned  and  diademed,  and  laced  with  jewels  of 
white  flame,  she  signaled  to  them  out  of  the  mystery 
and  immensity  of  the  night.  For  a  moment  they 
were  dumb,  they  stood  still,  as  if  they  paused  on  the 
brink  and  struggled,  protesting  against  this  ravishing 
of  their  souls  by  the  Exhibition.  Straight  in  front 
of  them,  monstrous  yet  fragile,  its  substance  with- 
drawn into  the  darkness,  its  form  outlined  delicately 
in  beads  of  light,  in  brilliants,  in  crystals  strung  on 
invisible  threads,  the  Water  Chute  reared  itself  like 
a  stairway  to  the  sky,  arch  above  arch,  peak  above 
peak,  diadem  above  diadem,  tilted  at  a  frightful 
pitch.  Chains  of  light,  slung  like  garlands  from  tall 
standards,  ringed  the  long  lake  that  stretched  from 
their  feet  to  the  bottom  of  the  stair.  The  water, 
dark  as  the  sky,  showed  mystic  and  enchanted,  bor- 
dered with  trembling  reeds  of  light. 

361 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

From  somewhere  up  in  the  sky,  under  the  top- 
most diamonded  arch,  there  came  a  rumbHng  and 
a  rushing — 

It  thrilled  them,  agitated  them. 

And  their  youth  rose  up  in  them.  They  looked 
at  each  other,  and  their  eyes,  the  eyes  of  their  youth, 
shone  with  the  same  excitement  and  the  same  desire. 

She  knew  that  he  had  deceived  her,  that  this  was 
not  the  Western  Garden,  where  the  band  played; 
she  was  aware  that  the  Exhibition  was  not  to  be 
trusted  either ;  that  it  was  in  league  with  him  against 
her;  that  if  she  yielded  to  it  they  were  lost.  And 
yet  she  yielded.  The  deep  and  high  enchantment 
was  upon  her.  The  Exhibition  had  her  by  the  hair. 
She  was  borne  on,  breathless,  improtesting,  to  the 
white  palings  where  the  paygate  was. 

It  was  worth  it.  She  had  to  own  it.  Never  be- 
fore had  either  of  them  tasted  such  ecstasy ;  from  the 
precipitous  climb  in  the  truck  that  hauled  them, 
up  and  up,  to  the  head  of  the  high  diamonded  stair; 
the  brief,  exciting  passage  along  the  gangway  to  the 
boat  that  waited  for  them,  its  prow  positively  over- 
hanging the  topmost  edge,  the  shding  lip  of  danger, 
where  the  rails  plunged  shining  to  the  blackness 
below;  the  race  they  had  for  the  front  seat  where, 
Ranny  said,  they  would  get  the  best  of  it;  and  then 
— the  downrush! 

It  was  as  if  they  had  been  shot,  exulting,  from  the 
sky  to  the  water,  sitting  close,  sitting  tight,  linked 
together,  each  with  an  arm  round  the  other's  waist, 
and  the  hand  that  was  free  grasping  the  rail,  their 
bodies  bowed  to  the  hurricane  of  their  speed,  with 
the  rapture  in  their  throats  mounting  and  mounting, 
a  towering,  toppling  climax  of  delight  and  fear,  as 

362 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

the  boat  shot  from  the  rails  into  the  water  and  rose 
like  a  winged  thing  and  leaped,  urging  to  the  heights 
that  had  sent  it  forth,  and  dropped,  perilously  again, 
with  a  shudder  and  a  smack,  once,  twice;  so  tre- 
mendous was  the  impetus. 

They  heard  young  girls  behind  them  scream  for 
joy;  but  they  were  dumb,  they  were  motionless; 
they  drank  rapture  through  set  teeth ;  it  went  throb- 
bing through  them  and  thrilling,  prolonging  its 
brief  life  in  exquisite  reverberations. 

And  as  if  that  wasn't  enough,  they  went  and  did 
it  all  over  again. 

And  Winny  struggled;  she  tried  to  hold  him 
back;  she  put  forth  all  her  innocent  guile;  she  pitted 
her  fragile  charm  against  the  stupendous  magic  of 
the  Exhibition.  She  loitered,  spellbound  to  all 
appearance,  in  the  bazaar,  before  the  streaming, 
shining  booths  that  poured  out  their  strange  mer- 
chandise, ItaUan,  French,  Indian,  Chinese,  and 
Japanese. 

"I  don't  want  to  do  anything  but  walk  about  and 
look  at  things,"  she  said.  "Why,  we  might  have 
traveled  for  years  and  not  seen  as  much." 

Winny  seemed  to  be  scoring  points  in  the  bazaar. 

Then,  before  she  knew  where  she  was,  Ranny, 
with  all  the  power  of  the  Exhibition  at  his  back, 
had  bought  her  a  present,  a  little  heart-shaped 
brooch  made  of  Florentine  turquoises. 

That  came  of  looking  at  things.  She  might  have 
known  it  would, 

"I'm  tired  of  these  shops,"  said  Winny.  "We 
shall  be  too  late  to  hear  anything  of  the  band." 

Thus  she  drew  him  to  the  Western  Garden,  so 
that  for  the  moment  she  seemed  to  have  it  all  in  her 

24  363 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

own  hands.  For  here  there  were  more  lights,  and 
even  more  extravagant  and  fantastic  display  of 
electric  jewelry,  more  garlands  of  diamond  and 
crystal,  illuminating,  decorating  everything.  And 
there  were  rubies  hanging  in  strange  trees,  and  at 
their  feet  the  glamour  of  light  dissolved,  half  of  it 
perished,  gone  from  the  world,  drunk  up  by  the 
earth,  half  living  on  where  gray  walks  wound  like 
paths  in  a  dream,  between  rings  of  spectral  green, 
islands  of  dimmed,  mysterious  red,  so  transformed, 
so  unclothed  and  clothed  again  by  glamour,  as  to 
be  hardly  discernible  as  beds  of  geraniums  in  grass. 

Here  they  wandered  for  what  seemed  an  eternity 
of  bliss. 

"What  more  do  you  want?"  said  Winny.  "Isn't 
this  beautiftd  enough  for  anybody?"  Neither  of 
them  had  any  idea  that  the  beauty  and  the  glamour 
of  it  was  in  their  own  souls  as  they  drank  each 
other's  mysteiy. 

"Let's  just  sit  and  Hsten  to  the  band,"  she  said. 
And  they  sat  and  listened  to  it  for  another  eter- 
nity, till  Ranny  became  restless.  For  thirteen  and 
eleven  pence  halfpenny  was  burning  in  his  pocket. 

The  thought  of  it  made  him  take  her  to  a  restau- 
rant where  they  sat  for  quite  a  long  time  and  drank 
coffee  and  ate  ices.  Winny  submitted  to  the  ices. 
They  were  delicious,  and  she  enjoyed  them  without 
a  shadow  of  misgiving.  She  was,  in  fact,  triumphant, 
for  she  looked  on  ices  as  the  close  and  crown  of  every- 
thing, and  she  calculated  that  out  of  that  sovereign 
there  would  be  exactly  eleven  and  twopence  half- 
penny left. 

"Well — ^it's  been  lovely.  And  now  we  must  go 
home,"  she  said. 

364 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Go  home?  Not  much.  Why,  we've  only  just 
begun."  He  looked  at  her.  "D'you  suppose  I 
don't  know  what  you're  up  to  ?  You're  jolly  clever, 
but  you  can't  take  me  in,  Winky.  Not  for  a  single 
minute." 

"Well,  then,  Ranny,  let  me  pay  for  something.'' 
And  she  took  out  her  little  purse. 

After  that  it  was  sheer  headlong,  shameful  defeat 
for  Winky.  He  had  found  her  out,  he  had  seen 
through  her  manceuvers,  and  he  and  the  Exhibition, 
the  destructive  and  terrible  Enchantress,  had  been 
laughing  at  her  all  the  time.  A  delirious  devil  had 
entered  into  Ranny  with  the  coffee  and  the  ices, 
urging  him  to  spend.  And  Winny  ceased  to  struggle. 
He  knew  at  what  point  she  would  yield,  he  knew 
what  temptations  would  be  irresistible.  He  got 
round  her  with  the  Alpine  Ride;  the  Joy  Wheel 
fairly  undermined  her  moral  being;  and  on  the 
Crazy  Bridge  Ranny's  delirious  devil  seized  her  and 
carried  her  away,  reckless,  into  the  Dragon's  Gorge. 

Emerging  as  it  were  from  the  very  jaws  of  the 
Dragon,  they  careered  arm  in  arm  through  the  rest 
of  the  Exhibition,  two  rushing  portents  of  youth  and 
extravagance  and  laughter;  till,  as  if  the  Enchantress 
had  twisted  her  wand  and  whisked  them  there,  they 
found  themselves  inside  the  palisades  of  the  Igorrote 
Village. 

A  swarm  of  half -naked  savages  leaped  at  them. 

It  was  Ranny  who  recovered  first. 

"It's  all  right,  Winky.  They're  the  Philippine 
Islanders." 

"Well,  I  never—" 

"Nor  I.     Talk  of  traveHn'— " 

But  it  was  all  very  well  to  talk.     The  sight  had 

365 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

sobered  them.  Gravely  and  silently  they  went 
through  that  village.  At  last,  Ranny  paused  out- 
side a  hut  no  bigger  than  a  dog-kennel.  It  bore  the 
label:  "Beda  And  His  Fiancee  Kodpat  Undergoing 
Trial  Marriage." 

Ranny  laughed.  "By  Jove,  that  tickles  me!''  he 
said. 

"What  does  it  mean,  Ranny?" 

"Why,  I  suppose  it  means  they  try  it  first  and  if 
they  don't  like  it  they  can  chuck  it." 

"What  an  idea!" 

"It's  a  rippin'  good  idea,  Winky.  Shows  what  a 
thunderin'  lot  of  sense  these  simple  savages  have 
got.  You  bet  they're  not  quite  so  simple  as  they 
seem.  They  know  a  thing  or  two.  Why,  they 
must  be  hundreds  of  years  ahead  of  us  in  civilization, 
to  have  thought  it  all  out  like  that.  Think  of  it, 
that  fellow  Beda's  had  a  better  chance  than  me." 

They  turned  away  from  Beda  and  Kodpat,  and 
presently  Winny  stood  entranced  before  the  little 
house  that  contained  Baby  Francis  (born  in  the 
Exhibition)  and  his  mother.  She  looked  so  long  at 
Baby  Francis  that  Ranny  couldn't  bear  it. 

' '  Oh,  look  at  him,  Ranny !  Isn't  he  a  little  lamb  ?" 
Winny's  eyes  were  tender,  and  her  face  quivered  with 
a  little  dreamy  smile. 

"D'you  want  to  take  him  home  and  play  with 
him?     Shall  I  ask  if  he's  for  sale?" 
"Oh,  Ranny!" 

She  turned  away.     And  he  drew  her  arm  in  his. 
"You  won't  be  happy  till  you've  got  him,  Winky." 
She  said  nothing  to  that;   only  her  mouth,  with- 
out her  knowing  it,  kept  for  him  its  little  dreamy 

smile* 

|66 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"I  believe,"  said  Ranny,  "you've  never  reelly  got 
over  Stanley's  goin'  into  knickers." 

"I  love  his  knickers,"  she  protested. 

"Yes,  but  you'd  love  him  better  if  he  was  that 
size,  wouldn't  you?" 

"I  couldn't  love  him  better  than  I  do,  Ranny. 
You  know  I  couldn't.  And  I  wouldn't  like  him  to 
be  any  different  to  what  he  is." 

She  was  very  serious,  very  earnest,  almost  as  if 
she  thought  he'd  really  meant  it. 

Silent  in  the  grip  of  an  emotion  too  thick  and  close 
for  utterance,  they  wandered  back  again  to  the  en- 
chanted garden  where  the  band  had  played  for  them. 
The  garden  was  silent,  too.  The  bandstand  was 
empty,  black,  unearthly  as  if  haunted  by  some  thin 
ghost  of  passionate  sound;  and  empty,  row  after 
row  of  seats  in  the  great  parterre,  except  for  a  few 
couples  who  sat  leaning  to  each  other,  hand  in  hand, 
finding  a  happy  solitude  in  that  twilight  desolation. 

Like  worshipers  strayed  into  some  church,  they 
joined  this  enraptured,  obHvious  company  of  de- 
votees, choosing  seats  as  far  as  possible  from  any 
other  pair. 


"Hadn't  we  better  be  going?" 

They  had  sat  there  in  silence,  holding  each  other's 
hands.  The  excitement,  the  delirious  devil  in  them, 
had  spent  itself,  and  under  it  they  felt  the  heaving, 
dragging  grounds  well  of  their  passion. 

To  Winny  it  had  never  come  before  like  this.  Up 
till  now  it  had  been  enough  simply  to  be  with  Ranny. 
Merely  to  look  at  him  gave  her  profound  and  poig- 
nant pleasure.    To  touch  him  in  those  rare  accidental 

367 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

contacts  the  adventure  brought  them,  to  feel  the 
firm  muscles  of  his  arm  under  his  coat  sleeve,  stopped 
her  breath  with  a  kind  of  awe  and  wonder,  as  if  in 
Ranny's  body  thus  discerned  she  came  unaware  upon 
some  transcendent  mystery. 

Yet  Winny  knew  now  why,  in  what  way,  and  with 
what  terrible  strength  she  loved  him  and  he  her. 
She  loved  him,  primarily  and  supremely,  for  himself, 
for  the  simple  fact  that  he  was  Ranny.  She  loved 
him  also  for  his  body,  for  his  slendemess,  and  for 
his  strong-clipping  limbs,  and  she  loved  him  for  his 
face  because  it  could  not  by  any  possibility  be  any- 
body else's. 

And  in  her  joy  and  tenderness,  in  their  engage- 
ment and  in  the  whole  adventure,  this  going  out 
with  him  and  all  the  rare,  shy  contacts  it  occasioned, 
instalments  of  delight,  windfalls  of  bliss  that  Heaven 
sent  her  to  be  going  on  with,  in  the  very  secrecy  and 
mystery  of  it  all,  Winny  felt  that  disturbing  yet  de- 
licious sense  of  something  iniquitous,  something  peril- 
ous, something,  at  any  rate,  unlawful.  It  was  the 
same  sense  that  she  had  known  and  enjoyed  in  the 
days  when  she  went  into  the  scullery  at  Granville 
to  make  beefsteak  pies  for  Ranny;  the  same  sense, 
but  far  more  exquisite,  far  more  exciting. 

She  did  not  connect  it  in  any  way  with  Violet. 
Violet  had  ceased  to  exist  for  them.  Violet  had  of 
her  own  act  annihilated  herself.  But  Winny  knew 
that  until  Ranny  was  divorced  from  his  wife  the 
law  continued  to  regard  him  as  married  to  her.  So 
that,  while  firm  land  held  and  would  always  hold 
her,  she  was  aware  that  he  and  she  were  walking 
on  the  brink,  and  that  by  the  rule  of  the  road  Ranny 
went,  so  to  speak,  upon  the  outer  edge  where  it  was 

368 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

far  more  dangerous.  She  knew  that  he  had  more 
than  once  looked  over;  and  she  knew  (though  noth- 
ing would  induce  her  to  look)  that  the  gulf  was  there, 
not  far  from  her  adventurous  feet. 

Still,  it  was  wonderful  how  all  these  years  they 
had  kept  their  heads. 

So  she  said:  "Hadn't  we  better  be  going?  I 
think  we  ought  to." 

She  had  unlaced  her  hand  from  his,  and  had  turned 
in  her  seat  to  face  him  with  her  decision. 

"Not  yet." 

"Well— soon.  It's  getting  rather  chiUy,  don't 
you  think?" 

At  that  he  jumped  up.     "Are  you  cold,  Winky?" 

"My  feet  are,  sitting." 

"I  forgot  your  little  feet." 

He  raised  her. 

"It  isn't  late,"  he  said.  "We  can  walk  about  a 
bit." 

They  walked  about,  for  he  was  very  restless  again. 

"Wherever  does  that  music  come  from?"  Winny 
said. 

Sounds  came  to  them  of  vioHns  and  'cellos,  of 
trombones  and  clarinets,  playing  a  gay  measure, 
a  dance,  insistent,  luring,  irresistible. 

They  followed  it. 

In  a  vast  room  fronted  by  a  latticed  screen,  all 
green  and  white,  roofed  by  a  green  and  white  awning, 
and  having  a  pattern  of  latticework,  green  and  white, 
upon  its  inner  walls,  on  a  vast  polished  floor  was  a 
crowd  of  couples  dancing  to  the  music  they  had 
heard.  It  came  loud  through  the  open  lattices, 
the  insistent,  luring,  irresistible  measure,  violent 
now  in  solicitation,  in  appeal ;  and  over  it  and  under 

369 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

went  the  trailing,  shuffling  slur  of  the  feet  of  the 
dancers  and  the  deUcate  swish  of  women's  gowns  as 
they  whirled. 

Standing  close  outside,  they  could  see  into  the  hall 
through  the  lattices  of  the  screen.  They  saw  forty 
or  fifty  couples  whirHng  slowly  round  and  round  to 
the  irresistible  measure;  some  were  stiff  and  awk- 
ward, palpably  shy;  some  with  invincible  propriety 
whirled  upright  and  rigid,  like  toys  wound  up  to 
whirl;  some  were  abandoned  to  the  measure  with 
madness,  with  passion,  with  a  corybantic  joy.  Here 
and  there  a  girl  leaned  as  if  swooning  in  her  lover's 
arms;  her  head  hung  back;  her  lower  lip  drooped; 
her  face  showed  the  looseness  and  blankness  of  a 
sensuous  stupor.  Other  faces,  staring,  upraised, 
wore  a  look  of  exaltation  and  of  ecstasy.  All  were 
superbly  unaware. 

Winny's  face  pressed  closer  and  closer  to  the  lat- 
tice. One  of  her  little  feet  went  tap-tapping  on  the 
gravel,  beating  the  measure  of  the  waltz.  For  at  the 
sound  of  the  music,  at  the  sight  of  the  locked  and 
whirling  couples,  her  memory  revived;  she  heard 
again  the  beating  of  the  measure  old  as  time;  she 
felt  in  her  limbs  the  start  and  strain  of  the  wild 
energy;  and  instinct,  savage  and  shy,  moved  in  the 
rhythm  of  her  blood,  and  desire  for  the  joy  of  the 
swift  running,  of  the  lacing  arms  and  flying  feet. 

In  her  body  she  was  standing  outside  the  Dancing 
Saloon  at  the  Earl's  Court  Exhibition,  with  her  face 
pressed  to  the  lattice;  she  was  twenty-seven  last 
birthday  in  her  body;  but  in  her  soul  she  was 
seventeen,  and  she  stood  on  the  floor  of  the  Poly- 
technic Gymnasium,  beating  time  to  the  thud  of  the 
barbell.     She  was  Winny  of  the  short  tunic  and  the 

370 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

knickers,  and  the  long  black  stockings,  and  had  her 
hair  (tied  by  a  great  bow  of  ribbon)  in  a  door- 
knocker plat, 

"Oh,  Ranny — "  She  looked  at  him  with  her 
shining  eyes,  half  tender  and  half  wild.  "  If  we  only 
could — " 

Something  gave  way  in  him  and  dissolved,  and 
he  was  weak  as  water  when  he  looked  at  her. 

The  violins  gave  forth  a  penetrating,  excruciating 
cry.  And  he  felt  in  him  the  tumult  evoked,  long 
ago,  one  Sunday  evening  by  the  music  in  the  Mission 
Church  of  St.  Matthias's. 

Only  he  knew  now  what  it  meant. 

His  voice  went  thick  in  his  throat. 

'T  mustn't,  Winky.  I  daren't.  Some  day — you 
and  I—" 

It  was  the  supreme  temptation  of  the  great 
Enchantress;  and  they  fled  from  it.  The  violins 
shrieked  out  and  cried  their  yearning  as  they  went. 


A  scud  of  rain  lashed  the  carriage  windows  as 
their  train  shot  out  of  the  Underground  at  Walham 
Green.  When  they  stepped  out  onto  the  platform 
at  Southfields,  the  big  drops  leaped  up  at  them. 

"Well,  I  never,"  said  Winny.  "Who'd  have 
thought  it  would  have  done  that?" 

They  scuttled  into  shelter. 

"It  '11  be  a  score  for  Mother.  She  said  it  would 
come,  and  I  said  it  wouldn't." 

"It  '11  ruin  your  new  suit." 

"And  there  won't  be  much  left  of  yotir  dress." 

"My  dress  '11  iron  out  again.     It's  me  poor  hat." 

(The  Peggy  hat  was  not  made  for  rain.) 

371 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"I'll  take  it  off  and  pin  it  up  in  me  skirt.  It's 
you  I'm  thinking  of." 

She  felt  his  coat  to  see  what  resistance  it  would 
offer  to  the  rain.  It  offered  none.  It  made  no 
pretense  about  it. 

"It'll  be  soaked,  and  it'll  never  be  the  same 
again,"  she  wailed. 

But  Ranny  remained  godlike  in  his  calm.  There 
was  still  one  and  sixpence  of  his  sovereign  left. 

"You  can  keep  your  hat  on.  We're  going  to  take 
a  cab." 

If  he  had  said  he  was  going  to  take  an  aeroplane 
she  couldn't  have  been  more  amazed.  It  was  only 
seven  minutes'  walk  to  Acacia  Avenue.  And  it  was 
not  a  common  cab,  it  was  Parker's  fly  that  he  was 
taking. 

She  surrendered  because  of  the  new  suit. 

"I  can  count  the  times  I've  ridden  in  a  cab,"  she 
said.  * '  This  is  the  third.  First  time  it  was  going  to 
Father's  funeral.  Second  time  it  was  poor  Mother's 
funeral.     I've  never  been  happy  in  a  cab  till  now." 

' '  Poor  little  girl !  Next  time  it  '11  be  coming  from 
our  wedding.     Will  you  be  happy  then?" 

"I'm  so  happy  now,  Ranny,  that  I  can't  believe 
it." 

"It  '11  only  be  six  months,  or  seven  at  the  out- 
side." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Certain." 

The  worst  of  the  cab  was  that  it  cut  short  their 
moments. 

It  had  been  standing  a  whole  minute  before  John- 
son's side  door.     He  sent  it  away. 

For  fifteen  seconds,  measured  by  hammer  strokes 

372 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

of  their  hearts,  they  were  alone.  On  the  streaming 
doorstep,  under  the  dripping  eaves,  he  held  her.  He 
kissed  her  sweet  face  all  wet  with  rain. 

"Little  Winky — ^little  darHng  Winky."  He  pushed 
back  her  Peggy  hat,  and  his  voice  lost  itself  in  her 
hair. 

"They're  coming,"  she  whispered. 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  and  of  a  bolt 
drawn  back.  Somebody  behind  the  door  opened  it 
just  wide  enough  to  let  Winny  through,  then  shut 
it  on  him. 

It  was  intolerable,  unthinkable,  that  she  should 
disappear  like  that.  Through  a  foot  of  space,  in  a 
hair's  breadth  of  time,  she  had  slipped  from  him. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

NOBODY  had  seen  them,  for  at  this  hour  Acacia 
Avenue  was  deserted.  The  long  monotonous 
pattern  of  it  stretched  before  him,  splendidly  blurred, 
rich  with  lamplight  and  rain,  bordered  with  streaming 
stars,  striped  with  watered  light  and  darkness,  glow- 
ing, from  lamp  to  lamp,  with  dim  reds  and  purples 
that  the  daylight  never  sees,  and  with  the  strange 
gas-Ht  green  of  its  tree  tufts  shivering  under  the  rain. 

Otherwise  the  Avenue  was  depressing  in  its  deso- 
lation. The  more  so  because  it  was  not  quite  de- 
serted. At  the  far  end  of  it  the  lampHght  showed  a 
woman's  figure,  indistinct  and  diminished.  This 
figure,  visibly  unsheltered,  moved  obHquely  as  if  it 
were  driven  by  the  slanting  rain  and  shrank  from 
its  whipping. 

He  could  not  tell  whether  it  were  approaching 
or  going  from  him.  It  seemed  somehow  to  recede, 
to  have  got  almost  to  the  end  of  the  road,  past  all 
the  turnings;  in  which  case,  he  reflected,  the  poor 
thing  could  not  be  far  from  her  own  door. 

There  was  no  mistaking  his.  Among  all  those 
monotonous  diminutive  houses  it  was  distinct  be- 
cause of  its  lamp-post  and  its  luxuriantly  tufted  tree. 
The  gas  was  still  turned  on  in  the  passage,  so  that 
above  the  door  the  white  letters  of  its  name,  Gran- 
ville, could  be  seen.  There  was  no  other  light  in  the 
windows.     Entering,  he  closed  the  door  noiselessly, 

374 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

locked  it,  slipped  the  chain,  and  turned  the  gas  out 
in  the  passage.  The  lamplight  from  outside  came 
in  a  turbid  dusk  through  the  thick  glass  of  the  front 
door.  A  small  bead  of  gas  made  twilight  in  the 
sitting-room  at  the  back. 

The  house  was  very  still. 

His  mother  had  evidently  gone  to  bed;  but  she 
had  left  a  fire  burning  in  the  sitting-room,  and  she 
had  set  a  kettle  all  ready  for  boiling  on  the  gas  ring, 
and  on  the  table  a  cup  and  saucer,  a  tin  of  cocoa,  and 
a  plate  of  bread  and  cheese. 

He  turned  up  the  gas,  put  the  tin  of  cocoa  back  into 
its  cupboard,  and  carried  the  bread  and  cheese  to 
the  larder  in  the  scullery.  He  tried  the  back  door 
to  make  sure  that  it  was  locked,  and  paused  for  a 
moment  on  the  mat.  He  was  thinking  whether  he 
had  better  not  undress  in  there  by  the  fire  and  spread 
his  damp  things  round  the  hearth  to  dry. 

And  as  he  stood  there  at  the  end  of  the  passage 
he  was  aware  of  something  odd  about  the  window  of 
the  front  door.  Properly  speaking,  when  the  pass- 
age was  dark,  the  window  should  have  shown  clear 
against  the  light  of  the  lamp  outside,  with  its  broad 
framework  marking  upon  this  transparency  the  four 
arms  of  a  cross.  Now  it  showed  a  darkness,  a  queer 
shadowy  patch  on  the  pane  under  the  left  arm  of  the 
cross. 

The  patch  moved  sideways  to  and  fro  along  the 
lower  panes;  then  suddenly  it  rose,  it  shot  up  and 
broadened  out,  darkening  half  the  window,  its  form 
indiscernible  under  the  covering  cross. 

And  as  it  stood  still  there  came  a  light  tapping 
on  the  pane.  He  thought  that  it  was  Winny,  that 
she  had  run  after  him  with  some  message,  or  that 

375 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

perhaps  somebody  else  had  run  to  tell  him  that 
something  was  wrong. 

He  went  to  the  door;  and  as  he  went  the  tapping 
began  again,  louder,  faster,  a  nervous,  desperate 
appeal. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  the  lamplight  showed 
them  to  each  other. 

"Good  God!"  He  muttered  it.  "What  are  you 
doing  here?" 

It  was  his  instinct,  not  his  eyes  that  knew  her. 

She  had  not  come  forward  as  the  door  opened; 
she  had  swerved  and  stepped  back  rather,  gripping 
her  sldrts  tighter  round  her  as  she  cowered.  Sleeked 
by  the  rain,  supple,  sinuous,  and  shivering,  she  cow- 
ered like  a  beaten  bitch. 

Yet  she  faced  him.  Shrinking  from  him,  cowering 
like  a  bitch,  backing  to  the  edge  of  the  porch  where 
the  rain  beat  her,  she  faced  him  for  a  moment. 

Then  she  crept  to  him  cowering;  and  as  she  cow- 
ered, her  hands,  as  if  in  helplessness  and  fear,  let  fall 
the  skirts  they  had  gathered  from  the  rain.  Her 
eyes,  as  she  came,  gazed  strangely  at  him ;  eyes  that 
cowered,  bitchlike,  imploring,  agonized,  desirous. 

She  crept  to  the  very  threshold. 

"Let  me  in,"  she  said.     "You  will,  won't  you?" 

"I  can't,"  he  whispered.  "You  know  that  as  well 
as  I  do." 

Her  eyes  looked  up  sideways  from  their  cowering. 
They  were  surprised,  bewildered,  incredulous. 

"But  I'm  soaked  through.     I'm  wet  to  me  skin." 

She  was  on  the  threshold.  She  had  her  hand  to 
the  door. 

He  could  see  her  leaning  forward  a  little,  ready  to 
fling  her  body  upon  the  door  if  he  tried,  brutally, 

376 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

to  shut  it  in  her  face.  It  was  as  if  she  actually- 
thought  that  he  would  try. 

He  knew  then  that  he  was  not  going  to  shut  the 
door. 

"Come  in  out  of  the  rain.  And  for  God's  sake 
don't  make  a  noise." 

"I'm  not  making  a  noise.  I  didn't  even  ring  the 
bell." 

He  drew  back  before  her  as  she  came  in,  creeping 
softly  in  a  pitiful  submission.  Though  the  passage 
was  lighted  from  the  street  through  the  wide-open 
door,  she  went  as  if  feeling  her  way  along  it,  with  a 
hand  on  the  wall. 

Ransome  turned.  He  had  no  desire  to  look  at 
her. 

He  struck  a  match  and  lit  the  gas,  raised  it  to  the 
full  flame,  and  then,  though  he  had  no  desire  to  look 
at  her,  he  looked.     He  stared  rather. 

Outside  in  the  half  darkness  he  had  known  her,  as 
if  she  stirred  in  him  some  sense,  subtler  or  grosser 
than  mere  sight.  Now,  in  the  full  light  of  the  hang- 
ing lamp,  he  did  not  know  her.  He  might  have 
passed  her  in  the  street  a  score  of  times  without 
recognizing  this  woman  who  had  been  his  wife; 
though  he  wotdd  have  stared  at  her,  as  indeed  he 
would  have  been  bound  to  stare.  It  was  not  only 
that  her  body  was  different,  that  her  figure  was 
taller,  slenderer,  and  more  sinuous  than  he  had  ever 
seen  it,  or  that  her  face  was  different,  fined  down  to 
the  last  expression  of  its  beauty,  changed,  physically, 
with  a  difference  that  seemed  to  him  absolute  and 
supreme.  It  was  that  this  strange  dissimilarity,  if 
he  could  have  analyzed  it,  would  have  struck  him 
as  amounting  to  a  difference  of  soul.     Or  rather,  it 

377 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

was  as  if  Violet's  face  had  never  given  up  her  soul's 
secret  until  now;  never  until  now  had  it  so  much  as 
hinted  that  Violet  had  any  soul  at  all.  The  compara- 
tive fineness  and  sharpness  of  outline  might  have 
reminded  him  of  his  wife  as  she  had  looked  when  she 
came  out  of  her  torture  after  the  birth  of  her  first 
child,  but  that  no  implacable  resentment  and  no 
revolt  was  there.  It  was  plainly  to  be  seen  (nor  did 
Ransome  altogether  miss  it)  that  here  were  a  body 
and  a  soul  that  had  suffered  to  extremity,  and  were 
now  utterly  beaten,  utterly  submissive. 

This  suggestion  of  frightful  things  endured  was 
more  lamentable  by  contrast  with  the  shining  sleek- 
ness, the  drenched  splendor  of  her  attire.  Ransome 
saw  that  her  clothes  helped  to  build  up  the  im- 
pression of  her  strangeness.  Violet  was  dressed  as 
his  wife,  at  the  most  frenzied  height  of  her  extrava- 
gance, had  never  dressed,  as  even  Mercier's  wife  could 
not  have  dressed,  nor  yet  his  mistress.  The  black 
satin  coat  and  gown  that  clung  to  her  body  like  a 
sheath  showed  flawless,  though  they  streamed  with 
rain;  the  lace  at  her  throat,  the  black  velvet  hat  with 
the  raking  plume  that  had  once  been  yellow,  the  de- 
sign and  quality  of  the  flat  bag  slung  on  her  arm 
were  details  that  belonged  (and  Ransome  knew  it) 
to  a  world  that  was  not  his  nor  Mercier's  either. 
And  as  he  took  them  in  he  conceived  from  them 
an  abominable  suspicion. 

His  eyes  must  have  conveyed  his  repulsion,  for 
she  spoke  as  if  answering  them. 

"You  mustn't  mind  my  clothes.  They're  done 
for." 

She  looked  down,  self -pitying,  at  her  poor  slippered 
feet  standing  in  a  pool  of  rain. 

378 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"I'm  making  such  a  mess  of  your  nice  hall." 

A  little  laugh  shook  in  her  throat  and  turned  into 
a  fit  of  coughing.  He  saw  how  instantly  one  hand 
went  to  her  mouth  and  pressed  there  while  the  other 
struggled  blindly,  frantically,  with  the  opening  of  her 
bag. 

"What  is  it?" 

"My  hanky — "  She  coughed  the  words  out.  It, 
the  childish  word,  moved  him  to  a  momentary 
compassion. 

"Here  you  are." 

She  stepped  back  from  him  as  she  stretched  out 
her  arm;  then  she  turned  and  leaned  against  the 
wall,  hiding  her  face  and  muffiing  her  cough  in  Ran- 
some's  pocket  handkerchief. 

Each  gesture,  each  surreptitious  and  yet  frantic 
effort  at  suppression,  showed  her  a  creature  that 
some  brute  had  beaten,  had  terrified  and  cowed. 
The  old  Violet  would  have  come  swinging  up  the 
path;  she  would  have  pushed  past  him  into  the  warm 
and  lighted  room ;  this  one  had  come  creeping  to  his 
door.  She  took  no  step  to  which  he  did  not  himself 
invite  her. 

"Come  in  here  a  minute,"  he  said. 

He  put  his  hand  upon  her  arm  to  guide  her.  He 
led  her  into  the  warm  room  and  drew  up  a  chair 
for  her  before  the  fire. 

"Sit  down  and  get  warm." 

She  shook  her  head;  and  by  that  sign  he  conceived 
the  hope  that  she  would  soon  be  gone.  She  looked 
after  him  as  he  went  to  the  door  of  the  room  to  close 
it.  When  she  heard  the  click  of  the  latch  her  cough 
burst  out  violently  and  ceased. 

She  crouched  down  by  the  hearth,  holding  out 
25  379 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

her  hands  to  the  blaze.  He  stood  against  the  chim- 
ney-piece, looking  down  at  her,  silent,  not  knowing 
what  he  might  be  required  to  say. 

She  peeled  off  the  wet  gloves  that  were  plastered 
to  her  skin ;  she  drew  out  the  long  pins  from  her  hat, 
took  it  off,  and  gazed  ruefully  at  the  lean  plume 
lashed  to  its  raking  stem.  With  the  coquetry  of 
pathos,  she  held  it  out  to  him. 

"Look  at  me  poor  feather,  Ranny,"  she  said. 

He  shuddered  as  she  spoke  his  name. 

"You'd  better  take  your  shoes  off,  and  that  coat," 
he  said. 

She  took  them  off.  He  set  the  shoes  in  the  fender. 
He  hung  the  coat  over  the  back  of  the  chair  to  dry. 
As  she  stood  upright  the  damp  streamed  from  her 
skirts  and  drifted  toward  the  fire. 

"How  about  that  skirt?" 

"I  could  slip  it  off,  and  me  stockings,  too,  if  you 
didn't  mind." 

"All  right,"  he  muttered,  and  turned  from  her. 
He  could  hear  the  delicate  silken  swish  of  her 
draperies  as  they  slid  from  her  to  the  floor. 

She  was  slenderer  than  ever  in  the  short  satin 
petticoat  that  was  her  inner  sheath.  Her  naked 
feet,  spread  to  the  floor,  showed  white  but  unshapely. 
She  stood  there  like  some  beautiful  flower  rising 
superbly  from  two  ugly,  livid,  and  distorted  roots. 
:  But  neither  her  beauty  nor  her  ugliness  could 
touch  him  now. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "I'll  get  you  some  dry 
things." 

His  mind  was  dulled  by  the  shock  of  seeing  her, 
so  that  it  was  unable  to  attach  any  real  importance 
or  significance  to  her  return.     He  knew  her  to  be 

380 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

both  callous  and  capricious;  therefore,  he  told  him- 
self that  there  was  no  need  to  take  her  seriously 
now.  The  thing  was  to  get  rid  of  her  as  soon  as 
possible.  He  smothered  the  instinct  that  had  warned 
him  of  his  danger,  and  persuaded  himself  that  dry 
things  would  meet  the  triviality  of  her  case. 

He  went  upstairs  very  softly  to  his  room.  In  a 
jar  on  the  chimney-piece  he  found  a  small  key.  Still 
going  softly,  he  let  himself  into  the  little  unfurnished 
room  over  the  porch  where  boxes  were  stored. 
Among  them  was  the  trunk  which  contained  Violet's 
long-abandoned  clothes.  He  unlocked  it,  rummaged, 
deliberated,  selected  finally  a  serge  skirt,  draggled 
but  warm;  a  pair  of  woolen  stockings,  and  shoes, 
stout  for  all  their  shabbiness. 

And  as  he  knelt  over  the  tnmk  his  mind  cleared 
suddenly,  and  he  knew  what  he  was  going  to  do.  He 
was  going  to  fetch  a  cab,  if  he  could  get  one,  and  take 
her  away  in  it.  If  she  was  staying  in  London  he 
would  take  her  straight  back  to  whatever  place  she 
had  come  from.  If  she  came  from  a  distance  he 
would  see  her  started  on  her  journey  home.  He  was 
prepared,  if  necessary,  to  hang  about  for  hours  in 
any  station,  waiting  for  any  train  that  would  remove 
her.  If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst  he  would  take 
a  room  for  her  in  some  hotel  and  leave  her  there. 
But  he  would  not  have  her  sitting  with  him  till  past 
midnight  in  his  house.  It  was  too  risky.  He  knew 
what  he  was  about.  He  knew  that  there  was  danger 
in  any  course  that  could  give  rise  to  the  suspicion 
of  cohabitation.  He  knew,  not  only  that  cohabita- 
tion in  itself  was  fatal,  but  that  the  injured  husband 
who  invoked  the  law  must  refrain  from  the  very 
appearance  of  that  evil. 

381 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Of  course,  he  knew  what  Violet  had  come  for. 
She  was  beginning  to  get  uneasy  about  her  divorce. 
And,  personally,  he  couldn't  see  where  the  risk  came 
in  unless  the  suit  was  defended.  And  it  wasn't  going 
to  be  defended.  It  couldn't  be.  The  suspicion  of 
collusion  would  in  his  case  be  a  far  more  dangerous 
thing.  It  was  what  he  had  been  specially  warned 
against. 

These  two  ideas,  collusion  and  cohabitation,  strug- 
gled for  supremacy  in  Ranny's  brain.  They  seemed 
to  him  mutually  exclusive;  and  all  it  came  to  was 
that,  with  his  suit  so  imminent,  he  couldn't  be  too 
careful.  He  must  not,  even  for  the  sake  of  decency, 
show  Violet  any  consideration  that  would  be  prej- 
udicial to  his  case. 

Whereupon  it  struck  him  that  the  most  perilous, 
most  embarrassing  detail  of  the  situation  was  the 
disgusting  accident  of  the  weather.  In  common 
decency  he  couldn't  have  turned  her  out  of  doors 
in  that  rain. 

And  under  all  the  confused  working  of  his  intelli- 
gence his  instinct  told  him  that  what  happened  was 
not  an  accident  at  all.  His  inmost  prescience  hinted 
at  foredoomed,  irremediable  suffering;  profound,  ir- 
reparable disaster. 


But  with  his  mind  set  upon  its  purpose  he  gathered 
up  the  shabby  skirt,  the  stockings,  and  the  shoes,  he 
took  his  own  thick  overcoat  from  its  peg  in  the 
passage;  he  warmed  them  well  before  the  sitting- 
room  fire. 

Violet  watched  him  with  an  air  of  detachment,  of 
innocent  incomprehension,  as  if  these  preparations 

383 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

in  no  way  concerned  herself.     She  was  sitting  in  the 
chair  now,  with  her  bare  feet  in  the  fender. 

He  then  put  the  kettle  on  the  fire,  and  her  eyes 
kindled  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  going  to  make  you  a  cup  of  hot  tea  before 
you  go." 

"I  can't  go,"  she  whispered. 

He  was  firm. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  Virelet.    But  you've  got  to." 

"But,  Ranny — you  couldn't  turn  a  cat  out  on  a 
night  like  this." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense  about  turning  out.  You 
know  you  can't  stay  here.  I  can't  think  what  on 
earth  possessed  you  to  come.  You  haven't  told  me 
yet." 

She  did  not  tell  him  now.  She  did  not  look  at 
him.  She  sat  bowed  forward,  her  elbows  on  her 
knees,  and  her  chin  propped  on  her  hands,  while  she 
cried,  quietly,  with  slow  tears  that  rolled  down  her 
bare,  undefended  face. 

He  made  the  tea  and  poui-ed  it  out  for  her,  and 
she  took  the  cup  from  him  and  drank,  without  look- 
ing at  him,  without  speaking.  And  still  she  cried 
quietly.  Now  and  then  a  soft  sob  came  from  her 
in  the  pauses  of  her  drinking. 

Ransome  sat  on  the  table  and  delivered  himself  of 
what  he  had  to  say. 

"I  don't  know  what's  upsetting  you,"  he  said. 
"And  you  don't  seem  inclined  to  tell  me.  But  if 
you're  worrying  about  that  divorce,  you  needn't. 
You'll  get  it  all  right.  The— the  thing  '11  be  sent 
you  in  a  week  or  a  fortnight." 

"Ranny,"  she  said,  "are  you  really  doin'  it?" 
383 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Of  course  I'm  doing  it." 

"I  didn't  know." 

"Well — you  might  have  known." 

He  was  deaf  to  the  terror  in  her  voice. 

"I'd  have  done  it  years  ago  if  I'd  had  the  money. 
It  isn't  my  fault  we've  had  to  wait  for  it.  It  was 
hard  luck  on  both  of  us." 

He  stopped  to  look  at  her,  still,  like  some  sick 
animal,  meekly  drinking,  and  still  crying. 

He  waited  tiU  her  cup  was  empty  and  took  it 
from  her. 

"More?" 

"No,  thank  you." 

He  put  down  the  cup,  turned,  and  went  toward  the 
door.  There  was  a  savage  misery  in  his  heart  and 
in  all  his  movements  an  awful  gentleness. 

She  started  up. 

"Don't  go,  Ranny.     Don't  leave  me." 

Her  voice  was  dreadful  to  his  instinct. 

"I  must." 

"You're  going  to  do  something.  What  are  you 
going  to  do?" 

"I'm  going  to  leave  you  to  change  into  those 
things.  I'm  going  to  look  for  a  cab,  and  I'm  going 
to  take  you  back  to  wherever  you  came  from." 

"You  don't  know  where  I  came  from.  You  don't 
know  why  I've  come." 

There  was  the  throb  of  all  disaster  in  her  voice. 
His  instinct  heard  it.  But  his  intelligence  refused 
to  hear.  It  went  on  reasoning  with  her  who  was 
unreasonable. 

"I  don't  know,"  it  said,  "why  you  want  to  stick 
here.     It  won't  do  either  of  us  any  good." 

'  *  Has  it  began  ?"  she  said.  ' '  Can't  anything  stop  it  ?'* 
384 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Yes.  You  can  stop  it  if  you  stay  here  all  night. 
If  you  want  it  to  go  right  you  must  keep  away. 
It's  madness  your  coming  here  at  this  time  of  night. 
I  can't  think  why  you — I  should  have  thought  you'd 
have  known — " 

"Oh,  Ranny,  don't  be  hard  on  me." 

"I'm  not  hard  on  you.  You're  hard  on  yourself. 
You  want  a  divorce  and  I  want  it.  Don't  you  know 
we  sha'n't  get  it — ^if — " 

"But  I  don't  want  it — I  don't  indeed." 

"What's  that?" 

"I  don't  want  it.  I  didn't  know  you  were  divorc- 
ing me.  I  never  thought  you'd  go  and  do  it  after 
all  these  years." 

"Rot!  You  knew  I  was  going  to  do  it  the  minute 
I  had  the  money." 

"You  don't  imderstand.  I've  come  to  ask  you 
if  you'll  forgive  me — and  take  me  back." 

"I  forgave  you  long  ago.  But  I  can't  take  you 
back.     You  know  that  well  enough." 

She  made  as  if  she  had  not  heard  him. 

"I'll  be  good,  Ranny.     I  want  to  be  good." 

He  also  made  as  if  he  had  not  heard. 

"Why  do  you  want  me  to  take  you  back?" 

"That's  why.  So  as  I  can  be  good.  Father's 
turned  me  out,  Ranny." 

"Your  father?" 

"I  went  to  him  first.  I  didn't  think  I'd  any  right 
to  come  to  you — after  I'd  served  you  like  I  did." 

"Oh,  never  mind  how  you  served  me.  What's 
Mercier  been  doing?" 

"He's  got  married." 

"Just  like  him.  I  thought  he  was  going  to  marry 
your 

385 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"He  wouldn't  wait  for  me.  He  couldn't.  He 
thought  you  were  never  going  to  get  your  divorce. 
He  had  to  settle  down  so  as  to  get  on  in  his  business. 
He  wanted  a  Frenchwoman  who  could  help  him, 
and  he  daren't  so  much  as  look  at  me — after,  for 
fear  she'd  divorce  liim." 

"I  told  you  he  was  a  swine." 

"He  wasn't.  It  wasn't  his  fault.  He'd  have 
married  me  two  years  ago  if  you  could  have  divorced 
me  then." 

Her  mouth  was  loose  to  the  passage  of  her  sigh, 
as  if  for  a  moment  she  felt  a  sensuous  pleasure  in 
her  own  self-pity.  She  did  not  see  how  his  mouth 
tightened  to  the  torture  as  she  turned  the  screw. 

She  went  on.  "  Lenny  was  all  right.  He  was  good 
to  me  as  long  as  I  was  with  him.  He  wouldn't  have 
turned  me  into  the  street  to  starve." 

"Who  has  turned  you  into  the  street?"  He  could 
not  disguise  his  exasperation. 

Then  he  remembered.     "Oh — your  father." 

"I  don't  mean  Father.     I  mean  the  other  one." 

"There  was  another  one?  And  you  expect  me 
to  take  you  back?" 

"I'm  only  asking  you,"  she  said.  "Don't  be  so 
hard  on  me.  I  had  to  have  some  one  when  Lenny 
left  me.  He's  been  the  only  one  since  Lenny.  And 
he  was  all  right  until  he  tired  of  me." 

"Who's  the  brute  you're  talking  about?" 

"He's  a  gentleman.     That's  all  I  can  tell  you." 

"Sounds  pretty  high  class.  And  where  does  this 
gentleman  hang  out?" 

"I  oughtn't  to  tell  you.  He's  a  painter,  and  he's 
awfully  well  known.  Well — it's  somewhere  in  the 
West  End,  and  we  had  a  fiat  in  Bloomsbury." 

386 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

She  answered  his  wonder.  "I  met  him  in  Paris. 
He  took  me  away  from  there,  and  I've  been  with 
him  all  the  time.  There  wasn't  anybody  else.  I 
swear  there  wasn't — I  swear." 

"Oh,  you  needn't." 

He  got  up  and  walked  away. 

"Ranny — don't  go  for  the  cab  until  I've  told  you 
everything." 

"I'm  not  going.    What  more  have  you  got  to  say?" 

"Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  as  if  you  could  miu-- 
der  me.  You  wouldn't  if  you  knew  how  he's  served 
me.  He  beat  me,  Ranny.  He  beat  me  with  his 
hands  and  with  his  stick." 

She  rolled  up  the  sleeves  of  her  thin  blouse. 

"Look  here — and  here.  That's  what  he  was  al- 
ways doing  to  me.  And  I've  got  worse — bigger  ones 
— on  me  breast  and  on  me  body." 

"Good  God — "  The  words  came  from  him  under 
his  breath,  and  not  even  his  instinct  knew  what  he 
would  say  next. 

He  said — or  rather  some  unknown  power  took  hold 
of  him  and  said  it — "Why  didn't  you  come  to  me 
before?" 

She  hesitated. 

"He  never  turned  me  out  until  last  night." 

Her  pause  gave  him  time  to  measure  the  signifi- 
cance of  what  she  said. 

"He  didn't  really  tire  of  me  till  I  got  ill.  I  had 
pneumonia  last  spring.  I  nearly  died  of  it,  and  I've 
not  been  right  since.  That's  how  I  got  me  cough. 
He  couldn't  stand  it." 

She  paused. 

"I  ought  to  have  gone  when  he  told  me  to.  But 
I  didn't.     I  was  awfully  gone  on  him. 

387 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"Aiid — last  night — we  were  to  have  gone  to  the 
theater  together;  but  he'd  been  drinkin'  and  I  said 
I  wouldn't  go  with  him.  Then  he  swore  at  me  and 
struck  me,  and  said  I  might  go  by  myself.  And  I 
went.  And  when  I  came  home  he  shut  the  door  on 
me  and  turned  me  into  the  street  with  nothing  but 
the  clothes  on  me  back  and  what  I  had  in  me  purse. 
And  he  said  if  I  came  back  he'd  do  for  me." 

She  got  it  out,  the  abominable  history,  in  a  suc- 
cession of  jerks,  in  a  voice  dulled  to  utter  apathy. 

And  an  intolerable  pity  held  him  silent  before  this 
beaten  thing,  although  with  every  word  she  dragged 
him  nearer  to  the  ultimate,  foreseen  disaster. 

She  went  on. 

"I  was  scared  to  walk  about  the  streets  all  night 
in  these  things.  I  always  was  more  afraid  of  that 
than  anything.  Though  he  never  woiild  believe  me 
when  I  said  so.  You  don't  know  the  names  he  called 
me.  So  I  took  a  taxi  and  I  went  to  the  first  hotel  I 
could  think  of  —  the  Thackeray.  But  I  hadn't 
enough  money  with  me,  and  they  wouldn't  take  me 
in.  Then  I  went  and  sat  in  the  waiting-room  at 
Euston  Station  till  they  closed.  Then  I  sat  outside 
on  the  platform  and  pretended  to  be  waitin'  for  a 
train.  He  wouldn't  believe  me  if  I  told  him  I'd 
spent  the  night  in  that  station.  But  I  did.  And  I 
got  me  death  of  cold.  And  in  the  morning  me  cough 
started,  and  they  wouldn't  take  me  in  any  of  the 
shops  because  of  it. 

"I  tried  all  morning.  Starker's  first.  Then  in 
the  afternoon  I  went  to  Father,  and  he  wouldn't  have 
me.  He  won't  believe  I  haven't  been  bad,  be- 
cause of  me  things  and  me  cough.  I  suppose  he 
thinks  I've  got  consumption  or  something.     He  saw 

388 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

me  coming  in  at  the  gate  and  he  turned  me  out 
straight.     I  didn't  even  get  to  the  door." 

"He  couldn't—" 

"He  did — reelly,  Ranny,  he  did.  He  vSaid  he'd 
washed  his  hands  of  me  and  I  could  go  back  to  you. 
He  said —    No,  I  can't  tell  you  what  he  said." 

There  was  no  need  to  tell.     He  knew. 

She  looked  at  him  now,  straight,  for  the  first 
time. 

"Ranny — he  knows.     He  knows  what  we  did," 

"Did  you  tell  him?" 

"Not  me!  He'd  guessed  it.  He'd  guessed  it  all 
the  time.  Trust  him.  And  he  taxed  me  with  it. 
And  I  lied.  I  wasn't  goin'  to  have  him  thinkin' 
that  of  you." 

"Of  me?" 

"Yes — you."  It  was  her  first  flash  of  feeling 
since  she  began  her  tale.  "It  doesn't  matter  what 
he  thinks  of  me.     I  told  him  so." 

"WeU?    Then?" 

"Then  I  started  lookin'  for  work  again.  Couldn't 
get  any.  Then  I  came  here.  If  you  turn  me  out 
there'll  be  nothing  but  the  streets.  If  I  was  to  get 
work  nobody  '11  keep  me.  I  haven't  properly  got 
over  that  illness.  I'm  so  weak  I  couldn't  stand  to 
do  anything  long.  There  are  times  when  I  can 
hardly  hold  myself  together." 

And  still  there  was  no  feeling  in  her  voice,  and 
barely  the  suggestion  of  appeal;  only  the  fiat  tones 
of  the  last  extremity. 

"I've  come  here  because  I'm  afraid  of  going  to 
the  bad.  I  don't  want  to  be  bad — not  reelly  bad. 
But  I'll  be  driven  to  it  if  you  turn  me  out." 

It  might  have  been  a  threat  she  held  out  to  him 
389 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

but  that  her  voice  lacked  the  passion  of  all  menace. 
Passion  could  not  have  served  her  better  than  her 
dull,  unvibrating  statement  of  the  fact. 

"If  you  won't  take  me  back — " 

Her  spent  voice  dropped  dead  on  the  last  word  and 
her  cough  broke  out  again. 

Ransome's  next  movement  averted  it.  She  re- 
vived suddenly. 

"Ranny — are  you  going  for  that  cab?" 

He  turned. 

"No,"  he  said.     "You  know  I'm  not." 

"Then,  what  are  you  thinking  of?" 


He  was  thinking :  "  I  won't  have  Dossie  and  Stanny 
sleeping  with  her.  And  I  can't  turn  Mother  out. 
So  there's  no  room  for  her.  Yes,  there  is.  I  can 
get  a  camp  bed  and  put  it  in  the  box  room.  I  shall 
be  all  right  in  there,  and  she  can  have  my  room  to 
herself." 

No  other  arrangement  seemed  endurable  or  pos- 
sible to  him. 

And  yet,  while  his  flesh  cried  out  in  the  agony  of 
its  repulsion,  it  knew  that  in  the  years,  the  terrible, 
interminable  years  before  them,  it  could  not  be  as 
he  had  planned.  There  would  be  a  will  stronger 
than  his  own  will  that  would  not  be  frustrated. 

And  he  told  himself  that  he  could  have  borne  it 
if  it  had  not  been  for  that. 

There  was  a  knocking  at  the  door.  The  handle 
turned,  and  through  the  slender  opening  which  was 
all  she  dared  make,  Mrs.  Ransome  spoke  to  her  son. 

"Ranny,  do  you  know  you've  left  the  front  door 
open?     Who's  that  coughing?"  she  said. 

390 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

Neither  of  them  answered. 

"Hasn't  Winny  gone  yet?  You  shouldn't  keep 
her  out  so  late,  dear.  It's  time  both  of  you  were  in 
bed." 

At  that  he  rose  and  went  to  her. 


Presently  they  could  be  heard  moving  Stanny's 
little  cot  into  his  grandmother's  room. 

That  night  Violet  slept  in  Ransome's  bed. 

Ransome  lay  on  the  sofa  in  the  front  sitting-room. 
He  did  not  sleep,  and  at  dawn  he  got  up  and  looked 
out.  The  rain  had  ceased.  It  was  the  beginning 
of  a  perfect  day. 

He  remembered  then  that  he  had  promised  Winny 
to  v/alk  with  her  to  Wimbledon  Common. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

"QHE'S  ill.  Fair  gone  to  pieces.  But  the  doc- 
O  tor  says  she'll  soon  be  all  right  again  if  we 
take  care  of  her." 

It  was  early  evening  of  Sunday.  They  were  going 
slowly  up  the  steep  hiU  that  winds,  westward  and 
southward,  toward  the  heights  of  Wimbledon. 

He  had  just  told  her  that  Violet  had  come  back. 

"I  couldn't  in  common  decency  turn  her  out." 

In  a  long  silence  he  struggled  to  find  words  for 
what  he  had  to  say  next.  She  saw  him  struggling 
and  came  to  his  help. 

"Ranny,  you're  going  to  take  her  back,"  she  said. 

"What  must  you  think  of  me?" 

"Think  of  you?  I  wouldn't  have  you  different." 
The  whole  spirit  of  her  love  for  him  was  in  those 
words. 

She  continued.  "You  see,  dear,  it  comes  to  the 
same  thing.  If  you  didn't  take  her  back  I  couldn't 
marry  you,  for  it  wouldn't  be  you.  You'll  have  to 
take  her." 

"You  talk  as  if  I'd  nobody  but  her  to  think  of. 
Look  what  she's  making  me  do  to  you — " 

"I'm  strong  enough  to  bear  it  and  she  isn't. 
She'll  go  straight  to  the  bad  if  we  don't  look  after 
her." 

"That's  it.  She  said  there  was  nothing  but  the 
streets  for  her."    He  brooded,     "If  I  was  a  rich 

392 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

man  I  could  divorce  her  and  give  her  an  allowance 
to  live  away.  I  can't  stand  it,  Winny,  when  I  think 
of  you." 

"You  needn't  think  of  me,  dear.  It  isn't  as  if  I 
hadn't  known." 

"How  could  you  know?" 

"I  knew  all  the  time  she'd  come  back — some  day." 

"Yes.  But  if  Father  hadn't  died  when  he  did  we 
should  have  been  safe  married.  We  missed  it  by  a 
day.  Mercier'd  have  married  her  two  years  ago. 
If  I'd  had  thirty  pounds  then  it  couldn't  have  hap- 
pened. But  I  was  a  damned  fool.  I  should  have 
thought  of  you  then — I  should  have  let  everything 
else  go  and  married  you." 

Slowly,  drop  by  drop,  he  drank  his  misery.  But 
she  had  savored  sorrow  so  far  off  that  now  that  the 
cup  was  brought  to  her  it  had  lost  half  its  bitterness. 

"You  couldn't  have  done  different,  even  then, 
dear.  Don't  worry  about  me.  It's  not  as  if  I 
hadn't  been  happy  with  you.  I've  had  you — reelly 
— Ranny,  all  these  years." 

But  the  happiness  that  by  way  of  comfort  she  held 
out  to  him  was  the  very  dregs  of  Ranny's  cup. 

"That's  it,"  he  said.  "I  don't  know  how  it's 
going  to  be  now.  She's  the  same,  somehow,  and  yet 
different." 

It  was  his  way  of  expressing  the  fact  that  Violet's 
suffering  had  given  her  a  soul,  and  that  this  soul, 
this  subtler  and  more  inscrutable  essence  of  her, 
would  not  necessarily  be  good.  It  might  even  be 
malignant.  Most  certainly  it  would  be  hostile.  It 
would  come  between  them. 

"It's  a  good  thing  the  children  '11  be  at  school 
now — out  of  her  way." 

393 


THE    COMBINED    MAZE 

"P'raps  she's  better — kinder,  p'raps." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  Winny.  I'm  afraid. 
Anyhow,  it  '11  never  be  the  same  for  you  and  me." 

He  paused,  and  then  seeing  suddenly  the  full  ex- 
tent of  their  calamity,  he  broke  out. 

"What '11  you  do,  Winny?" 

"I'll  ask  Mr.  Randall  if  he'll  take  me  on." 

"You  won't  stay  here?" 

"No.  Better  not.  I  mustn't  be  too  near,  this 
time.  That  was  the  mistake  I  made  before.  And 
you've  got  your  mother." 

"And  what  have  you  got?"  he  cried,  fiercely. 

"I've  got  plenty — all  I've  ever  had.  These  things 
don't  go  away,  dear." 

They  stood  still,  looking  before  them,  with  their 
unspoken  misery  in  their  eyes. 

At  their  feet,  down  there,  creeping  low  on  the 
ground,  spreading  its  packed  roofs  for  miles  over 
the  land  that  had  once  been  green  fields,  its  red  and 
purple  smoldering  and  smoking  in  the  autumn  mist 
and  sunset,  there  lay  the  Paradise  of  Little  Clerks. 

They  turned  and  went  slowly  toward  it  down  the 
hill. 


THE   END 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 

PR.NTED.NOS 

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